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KISSES. 


TWO 


BY 

HAWLEY "^SMART. 

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“ MetMnks no wrong it were, if I should steal 
From those two melting rubies one poor kiss.’^ 



' ho.J.o-2 Sl.0 

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LOIJ^IIVO^ I^Txblisher, 

Cor. Bromfield and Washington Sts., 


BOSTON. 



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^rcs3 of 

R O C K W K L L A N 1) ‘ C H U R C H I L L , 
39 Arch Street, Boston. 








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Copyright, 1877. ^ 
A. K. I-OIUNU. 


TWO 


KISSES. 




^ ; CHAPTER L 

- - ' MAJOR JENKENS. 

The Linford races are just over. The bulk of visitors have hied them home by the 
six train, and the city generally has emptied itself of the influx that the races always 
attract ; for Linford is a meeting of some celebrity, and always freely patronized by 
the followers of the turf. Still, the city has not as-j^et settled down. The retiring 
tide has left shallows and channels behind it that yet eddy and ripple in memory of 
the fierce rush of waters. 

The billiard-room of the “ Reindeer” indeed is still bubbling with excitement. A 
somewhat noisy and tumultuous pool is going on there, very different from the quiet 
six-penny game usual among its habitues. Shilling lives and much venturing of hall- 
crowns is the order of the evening ; yet it is easy to see the players are chiefly towns- 
folk, or young farmers from the surrounding district, winding up their two days’ outing 
for the most part. The sharks, with keen, avid eye for the countiy minnow, that follow 
ill the wake of most race meetings, have taken their departure. Those flashily-dressed 
men, so anxious to lay against eveiything and anything, who filled the room the pre- 
vious night, are no longer there. Away in the whizzing special, with their foul pipes 
and fouler language, in pursuit of fresh prey ; speeding towards London, in search of 
other victims with fatuous fancies for backing the favorite, solacing themselves mean- 
while with flasks of strong waters, such games as maybe accomplished by the dim light 
of the carriage lamp. 

The billiard-room is heavy vuth tobacco-smoke, and reeking with the steam of hot 
and strong potations. The babble and laughter wax louder, and vociferations to wage 
half-crowns are shouted incessantly as the game fluctuates. 

“ Red upon green, black your player,” calls the wizened, rat-like marker in monoto- 
nous tone, and a slight, neatly-dressed man, of medium height, wearing spectacles, 
advances to the table, almost mechanically chalking his cue as he does so. lie hesi- 
tates a little and seems undecided what to play for. 


4 


Two Kisses. 


“ I’ll take 5"our two crowns to one you don’t hold it, sir,” exclaims a flushed, fresh- 
colorcd young man fi om the bench that runs round the room. 

“ If you like,” replies the player, “ but I don’t care about betting — I only play for 
amusement.” 

“ Come, sir, that won’t do, jmu have picked up a goodish few of my half-crowns 
to-night, to say nothing of other people’s.” 

“ As you like,” replied the player again, with a deprecatory shrug of his shoulders. 

“ He’s got to the end of his neiwc, Tom,” cried the young man, somewhat boister- 
ously, “ and my silver’s coming back to me.” 

“ I don’t know,” remarked the other; “ he’s seemed a bit nervous all along, but he 
hasn’t missed much.” 

“ Life off green,” cried the marker in his usual monotone, as that ball rolled gently 
into the pocket, and the red came slowly back down the table. “ Stroke and division. 
Take your stroke, sir.” 

“ I don’t know'. Yes, I think so. I must be off to bed now, gentlemen, so I’ll have 
the shot.” 

The hazard he had just made was by no means a difficult one, but that wdiich now 
presented itself w'as. To be made undoubtedly. What is not at billiards ? But cer- 
tainly not one that anything but a fine player could expect to accomplish without much 
fiivoring of fortune. 

Had there been a shrewd observer present, he might have noticed that the elderly 
gentleman, just before playing, invariably gave his spectacles a slight hitch, and that 
when he struck his ball a marvellously keen pair of black eyes peered forth heloio 
them. But there W'as little chance of that being noticed in the noisy company. As 
he again chalked his cue preparatory to his final stroke, his former antagonist 
exclaimed, in somewdiat irritable tones : — 

“Come, sir, you have had the best of me all night. I lay you tw'O sovereigns ^o 
one you don’t hold the black.” 

“ You cannot expect me to take that,” returned the other, quietly. “ This is a very 
difficult stroke ; and though I could play a little once, I can’t see very w'ell now. We 
w'oii’t have a bet this time.” 

“ Nonsense. You’ve w'on several times of me, and say you’re going. I insist upon 
a last chance. I’ll lay you three sovereigns to one you don’t hold it. In these parts 
we play on the square, and ahvays give a fellow his revenge.” 

“ Do you mean to say, sir, that I don’t play on the square ? ” retorted the elderly 
gentleman, sharply, and bringing the butt of his cue angrily on the floor. 

“No, of course not,” stammered his antagonist, considerably taken aback by this 
demonstration on the part of oncwdioin he had fancied might be bullied with impunity. 
“ I only meant — in short, you ought to give me another chance for my money, you 
know.” 

“Very good,” replied the other quietly. “I take your three sovereigns to one. 


Major Jenkens. 


5 




tlicn. But, recollect, I may win, and if you can’t afford to lose, you had better not 
bet. It is only school-boys that cry out when they lose. What is it to be, sir ? Bet 
or no bet ? ” 

The altercation had attracted some attention in the room by this time, andtlie young 
fellow on the bench, who was, if truth must be told, one of Messrs. Cullington’s (they 
kept the leading drapery establishment in Linford) young men, felt ashamed to 
withdraw his offer. He aspired to being regarded as fast among his compeers — an 
ambition that o’erleaps itself in much higher circles than bis. The c^-cs of his com- 
rades were upon him. lie felt it was impossible to go back, although he was already 
impressed with the conviction that the elderly gentleman in spectacles would assuredly 
hold that ball, and that his slender purse, on which the night had already made 
considerable inroads, would be still further impoverished. 

“ Of course, I stand by what I said,” he at last replied, sullenly, -with that dogged 
persistence so often the characteristic of men when they feel they are getting the 
worst of it, “ 

“ Of course you do. Jack,” chorused some of his friends. A fellow always stands 
by his opinion who is anything like a good plucked one. Why, it’d be ten to one 
against Cook himself holding that ball.” 

Though slightly comforted by such friendly assurance, the somewhat crestfallen 
layer of odds could but recollect that these peremptory arbiters of Cook’s capabilities 
had never enjoyed the privilege of seeing that artist play, and what Cook could or 
could not do was not of so much importance to him just tlien, as how far the talent of 
his spectacled opponent extended. 

For a minute or so the i-ooin was hushed as the elderly gentleman poised his cue. 
Another moment, and he had proved to the spectators that whatever odds it might be 
against Cook, it was no safe three to one against him; for, playing with tolerable 
strength, he drove the black ball into the top corner pocket, and left his own spinning 
in its place, 

“ Xot lost my game so much as I thought,” he remarked blandly, as he pushed his 
spectacles once more well down upon his nose, and handed over his cue to the marker. 
^‘Yes, quite right, thank you,” he continued urbanely, as that functionary handed 
him over the pool. ^‘A trifle for yourself, my man. Three sovereigns, thank you, 
sir. You arc unlucky; I don’t suppose I should make that stroke once in ten times. 
Your friends estimated the odds very (with considerable inflection on the first 
syllabic) correcth'. Good-night, gentlemen.” 

“ AVho is he ? Where did he come from ? Did you ever sec him play before ? ” 
asked half-a-dozen impatient mouths as the door closed behind the triumphant pool- 
pkaycr. 

lie’s a Major Jenkens, as has been staying here the last three days,” rctiu-ned the 
marker, laconically, “ and I never saw him touch a cue till to-night, but it’s my 
belief, gents, he’s had one in- his hand pretty often, looking at his style; he weren't 


6 


Two Kisses. 


showy, but he were very sure — never played a fancy shot the whole evening till 
the last. 

“ He’s a regular leg, that’s what he is,” exclaimed the victim, “ and if the old 
scoundrel hadn’t slunk olf to bed, I’d have told him so.” 

Even as he spoke, the door opened, and the major re-entered the room. 

I have left my spectacle-case on the mantel-piece. Ah, yes, that’s it, thank you. 
Once more good-night. I trust, sir, you will be more fortunate in the next pool,” 
and the major looked very straight through his spectacles at his utterly confounded 
antagonist. 

Mr. John Silk, of the house of Cullington and Co., did not express his private sen- 
timents on this occasion ; but better men than he had before now failed to tell the 
major their private opinion of him when it came to that point. It did not seem quite 
so easy to call that cool, self-possessed, gentlemanly man, clothed in the panoply of 
his spectacles, a swindler to his face ; and yet people, w ith considerable more experi- 
ence of Major Jenkens than Mr. John Silk, had come at times very much to that 
opinion concerning him. 

The major, meanwhile, lights his candle, and betakes himself to his bedroom, w'ith 
very little anxiety as to w’hat the company in the billiard-room may think of him. 
Not much w^ont to trouble his head about such small matter as the suflrages of his 
fellows is Major Jenkens, — treating them indeed for the most part as sent into the 
w'orld expressly to minister to his w\ants and necessities, imbued, I am afraid, wdth 
slight respect for the general intellectual powxrs of mankind, but powerfully impressed 
wdth belief in their gullibility. 

Having gained his chamber, the major proceeds to wdnd up his w^atch with due 
deliberation, and then, turning out his pockets, counts their contents in a quiet, busi- 
ness-like fashion. 

“ Six pounds eleven and six,” he mutters. “ Not a bad night’s work for a country 
billiard-room, and will pay my hotel-bill handsomely. I picked up a little, too, on 
the race-course. No ; I have not succeeded in finding the man I w'anted, but fortune 
has been kind to me. Yes, the trip doesn’t owe me anything. My eye and hand, 
though not true cnougli for London, arc good enough yet another half-dozen years in 
the provinces. But, really,” he continued, w'ith a deprecatory elevation of liis eye- 
brows, “ country practice is not ‘ worth the candle.’ Pour passer le temps^ perhaps, 
but not a serious avocation for a man of ability. Dear me, how spectacles ahvays 
do bamboozle people ! Because you wear glasses, they always conclude you can’t 
sec.” 

IMajor Jenkens w^as busied, w^hile thus reflecting, in packing up his belongings 
preparatory to an early start. It was curious how neat and precise he w’^as in all his 
arrangements. He folded such garments as he placed within his portmanteau w'ith 
scrupulous care, placed his w^atch and purse by his bedside, and even disposed his 


Major Jenkens, 7 

brushes, spectacles and razor, with almost mathematical regularity on the dressing- 
table. 

. It was singular to remark how deft and dexterous his supple fingers were in all 
these little minutiae, how quick and decided he seemed to be on every point ; how the 
nervous, diffident manner which had so characterized him in the billiard-room seemed 
to have disappeared. There were people who, mistrusting Claxby Jenkens, declared 
that this nervousness of manner was assumed at will for purposes of his, Claxby 
Jenkens’, own. But the major always vowed that he was shy among strange com- 
pany ; that it was a weakness of his boyhood, which he had never succeeded in shak- 
ing off — he supposed he never should now. Certain it was that this shy, hesitating 
manner was invariably to be observed in the major on first making his acquaintance, 
and yet it was equally worthy to be noted what cool requests this diffident gentleman 
sometimes proffered at short notices to people of whom he knew but little. 

His belongings being in what the major would have termed due marching order,” 
that gentleman sought his pillow with the calm satisfaction of a man who had done 
his duty to himself, a matter of considerably higher import in his eyes than any 
exertion on that point regarding his neighbor. To tell the truth, the major was a 
little apt to regard his neighbor as an undeclared enemy, seeking to obtain some slight 
advantage over him, an advantage which the major had long ago decided that his duty 
towards his neighbor required him to keep entirely on his own side the ledger, — a 
conclusion which he had contrived to cany out with tolerable success. Those that 
could say they had been vouchsafed the best of their dealings with Major Claxby 
Jenkens were not numerous. 

Plausible and liberal as he had sometimes seemed in matter of help to his fellows, 
wonderful as had appeared his disinterestedness to both men and even women at times, 
yet it was remarkable how the quid pro quo^ the return for his exertions on such 
occasions, had come about. The recipients of his help sometimes ground their teeth 
hard when the reckoning came, and they discovered what it was he required of them 
for such assistance ; but they usually did his bidding, the fact being that refusal in 
some cases was next door to impossible. Claxby Jenkens was very fond of succoring 
his neighbor in the hour of trial ; but, impressed with the frailty of human nature, 
Claxby Jenkens was wont to take stringent precautions that his neighbor should never 
fall into the sin of ingratitude. 

“ Men are so apt to forget those who have befriended them,” quoth the major. I 
am singularly fortunate ; those I have had the good luck to be of service to never 
'forget me.” 

lie was right ; they must have been much favored of Providence, or entirely gulfed 
’neath life’s stormy waters if they did. Assistance from the major was a thing certain 
to have to be accounted for in due course, and likely to bear exorbitant interest. 

IMcanwhile Major Claxby Jenkens, anxious even in his slumbers not to be got the 
best of, takes it out of the sheets and Ifiankets of the “ Reindeer,” as if still bearing 


8 


Two Kisses. 


In mind that, having to pay for the bed, it behoved him to get as much sleep as he 
could out of it. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE bankrupt’s WIDOW. 

There are not many pleasanter situations in London than Hanover street, Hanover 
square, west; more especially if you are located on its north side, and so get the 
advantage of what that neighborhood regards as the morning sun. For Regent 
street and its tributaries do not pretend to much necessity for sunlight till between 
nine and ten ; of course it is well it should be out and warming the day, taking the 
chill out of the night-air and so on ; but the people who live on those pleasant first- 
floors of the streets running west of the great artery are not wont to trouble them- 
selves regarding tea and rolls much before the latter hour. Certainly you have more 
seclusion, magnificence, and are altogether more flavored with aristocracy, if you take 
up your abode in Belgravia or its vicinity ; but what is so delightful as a stroll down 
Regent street on a sunny May morning ? The throng, the shops, the broad, well- 
swept causeway — is there anything approaching to it for an idler in all London ? 

It is rather soon for the park, perhaps, and even if it were not, to your inveterate 
street-lounger Rotten Row is a comparatively dreary entertainment. But Regent 
street, the noblest lounge of all the civilized world, to which the Grand Boulevard of 
Paris, or the Broadway of New York, are as nothing, there is always a romance, a 
picture, a story, or a jest, to be found there ; much food for re:^ction to be got out 
of a walk up that regal promenade, take it when 3^011 will. 

In the window of a prettily furnished sitting-room in Hanover street are seated • 
two ladies, looking lazily out on the passers-by, — striking women both of them, dressed 
with admirable taste, and in the extreme of the fashion. One wears a widow’s weeds ; 
but the richness of her well-fitting robe, the soft folds of her crape, and the delicate 
coquettish cap half concealed in the wealth of her rich dark tresses, augur of well- 
to-do sorrow by no means incapable of consolation. A tall, shapely woman she looks, 
as she lies indolently back in her chair, displaying a neatly turned ankle and buckled 
shoe. 

Her companion is more vivacious in appearance, more impetuosity visible in the 
very whisk she gives to her well-flounced skirts, as she settles herself more easily in 
her seat and observes : — 

“ So 3'^ou’re a widow, Lizzie. Well, my dear, considering what we know your late 
lamented was, I don’t know that I feel altogether called upon to condole with 3'ou.” 

“ Perhaps not. I am not going to pretend to you that I could have any love for Mr. 
Hemsworth. I married him as a child, and he took good care that I should form no 


The Bankrupt' s Widow. 


9 


heroic conception of him afterwards. We will not touch on that, please. Mark 
llemsworth is gone, and though he never took any pains to gain my affections, yet he 
sheltered me for five years, and he was my husband, remember.” 

“ ^Y,as, he was,” retorted Lizzie Paynter, viciously ; 1 am not likely to forget it, 

nor you either, for the matter of that. I have seen him recall the fact to your recol- 
lection pretty often, my dear, in days gone by. If I had been in your place, the 
lamented Mark would have found his fingers in hot water many a time, but you — ” 
and Mrs. Paynter shrugged her shoulders as though to say there are women who will 
submit to anything. 

“ Do please let bygones be bygones, Lizzie. Plow Mark treated me surely concerns 
only myself now. I don’t know,” she continued, plaintively, “ that there ever was 
any one else it mattered to. You see from the day of my manfiage I have never had 
a friend to appeal to. From that moment my father vanished, and I don’t even know 
whether he is dead or alive.” 

“ No ? ” ejaculated Mrs. Paynter, sitting bolt upright in her chair with astonishment. 

“ It is the fact, though,” said Cissy, sadly. “ I haven’t a friend in the world, unless 
I may call you one. You were very kind to me the year before last in Paris. I know 
that doesn’t mean much, but you told me to come and see you if ever I came to Lon- 
don, and I felt so lonely when I arrived here that I scribbled you a note yesterday. I 
haven’t, to my knowledge, another acquaintance, even in town, and I don’t know 
what to do.” 

‘‘ Do, my love ! ” retorted the vivacious Mrs. Paynter, although a little melted by 
the widow’s melancholy tones. Why, you must do just as well-jointured ladies in 
your position do. Make the best you can of life for a year or so, and then, perhaps, 
Cissy, my dear, we may find some one to take care of you.” 

Cissy llemsworth paused for some few minutes as if lost in thought ; at last, raising 
her head, she said, in a somewhat hesitating fashion : — 

“ But suppose I am not well-jointured ? ” 

A slight expression of astonishment flashed across her visitor’s face, and she replied, 
quietly : — 

“ Well, it is difficult to say, considering the establishment I last saw you at the head 
of, what your views may be on such a subject; but I should imagine. Cissy, .that you 
are left pretty comfortably off.” 

Again the widow hesitated, and as the sun shone in upon the soft, girlish face, it 
seemed almost impossible to realize that she had been five years a wife. To Lizzie 
Paynter, wiio had seen somewiiat of her brief married career, it seemed maiwellous 
that she could retain such an appearance of innocence and freshness. That worldly- 
minded lady had seen poor Cissy in her Paris home, — mistress of a saloon frequented 
by roues^ gamblers on the Bourse, and at times invaded by ladies with reputations not 
altogether unsmirched. Mrs. Paynter, Bohemian in her tastes, and by no means 
scrupulous with whom she mixed, had found Madame Ilemsworth’s receptions amus- 


10 


Two Kisses. 


ing. That was quite sufficient for her. She liked to talk, to valse, to flirt, to be 
amused, and there was no house open to her during her sojourn in Paris in which she 
so readily attained this pleasant combination. Of course she paid great court to licr 
hostess. In due return for her hospitality, in the first instance ; because she really 
grew to like her, in the second. But Mrs. Paynter, to the very last, never could de- 
termine whether Cissy Ilemsworth was the most innocent or most artful woman of 
her years that she had ever come across, and she was still undecided on this point. 
That her husband treated her with almost brutal indiflerence was palpable ; but that 
she consoled herself for his neglect was at all events not visible. Yet she had no lack 
of admirers to choose from. Young, graceful, mistress of a handsome establishment, 
with a husband at no pains to conceal his want of regard for her, and in Paris, it would 
have been odd if there had not been plenty of aspirants for her favor. AVhat was 
odd, was her superb indiflerence to all these danglers. 

These baffled adorers declared Madame Ilemsworth to be an animated iceberg, to be 
destitute of esprit, wit and humor. But if Cissy shone with no peculiar brilliancy in 
conversation, she was eminently graceful in her manner,- she was always extremely 
well dressed, and showed quite sufficiency of tact. A beauty she was not exactly, but 
with a magnificent figure, a profusion of rich, dark hair, youth and good eyes, she 
might very well pass for one. 

Deeper than any woman I ever met, or with a far-away love affair in the back- 
ground, was Mrs. Paynter’s final verdict, after much unavailing attempt to compre- 
hend her friend’s character during that Paris intimacy of some eighteen months or so 
ago, and great had been that lady’s astonishment upon receiving a note the previous 
day from Cissy Ilemsworth, requesting that she would call upon her. She had 
overlooked the'notice of Mr. Ilcmsworth’s death in the papers, and had no idea, till 
she arrived in Hanover street, that Cissy was now a widow. 

“ I think I had better tell you all,” said Cissy, slowly, after a lengthened pause. 
“ I have just a thousand pounds left in the world.” 

To say that Mrs. Paynter was astonished, would convey a very feeble notion of that 
lady’s bewilderment; she was simply thunderstruck. That the widow of ^Mark 
Ilemsworth, whose establishment in Paris, not two years ago, must have required 
something like four or five thousand a year to maintain, should assert that she had 
but a few hundreds left was inconceivable. 

“ My dear Cissy, what can you mean ? ” she exclaimed at last. 

“ What I say,” replied the widow, quietly. “ INIark was a very daring speculator, it 
appears, and I presume had been unfortunate of late. All I know is, that no sooner 
was his death noised abroad than creditors sprang up from all directions. I can’t 
understand it even now. I ought to have had a settlement, they say ; but it seems I 
had not. All I could make out was that everybody who had any claim upon him 
came before his wife. They said he had behaved disgracefully, and that my people 
must have been very foolish. If he has behaved badly to me, that, as I said before, 


The Bankrupt's Widow, 11 

concerns nobody but me. All these people got their money, and more than their 
money, I believe.’^ 

“ But are you sure, Cissy, that there was no settlement made upon you at the time 
of your marriage ? ” inquired Mrs. Paynter. 

“ I am told not. But I don’t profess to understand it all. I don’t think I ever 
. should have got things settled at all, if it had not been for an English barrister, who 
turned up, I still scarcely know how.” 

“ Ah ! we are coming to a man amongst all the tangle at last,” thought Mrs. 
Paynter. “ I always knew there must be a ‘ him ’ in the background somewhere. An 
old friend, I suppose. Cissy.” 

‘‘No, there you mistake,” returned the widow. “I never saw him till about a 
fortnight before poor Mark’s death.” 

“ Poor Mark, indeed ! ” muttered Mrs. Paynter to herself; “ a brute, a bear, and she 
pretends to regret him. What can she mean ? And how did you make his acquaint- 
ance, then ? ” 

“Really, I almost forget. Somebody brought him. You remember how people 
did come to my evenings. But he called aftenvards. and when he saw what trouble 
I was in, he asked if he could be of any assistance. I was really so puzzled that I felt 
grateful for his offer, and told him so. Well he did — I don’t know what he did, but 
at last he said if I would give him authority, he would do his best to put things 
straight for me, and the end of it all was he informed me that I had been grossly 
taken advantage of in every way, robbed in fact ; that he unfortunately had interfered 
too late, but that there remained to me, out of the scramble, about a thousand pounds.” 

“And what do you mean to do now?” inquired Mrs. Paynter. “.Marry the 
chivalrous barrister ? ” 

“ No,” returned Mrs. Ilemsworth, with a faint smile. “ I don’t think he’s likely to 
ask me ; but I suppose I must marry somebody before very long. What else can I 
do ? I must have some one to take care of me.” 

She said this in quiet, matter-of-fact tones, as if marriage was to be adopted as a 
profession ; spoke of it as a girl left in bad circumstances might talk of going out as 
a governess ; as if there could be no difficulty about it ; as if it was an affair that would 
come to pass a few months hence in the usual course of things. If Hanover street 
had been blocked up with suitors for her hand, she could not have alluded to taking a 
second husband with more complete calmness and assurance of its being so. 

, A thorough woman of the world was Mrs. Paynter, conversant with not a little of 
the wickedness of the world to boot, given to flirtations and other amusements that 
strait-laced people held highly indecorous. There was a strong dash of Bohemian- 
ism in her set; junketings to Creinorne in the summer months, and lively dinners 
down the river they specially affected. 

It must not be supposed that Mrs. Pajmter was a woman without the pale for one 
moment. That merry lady Avould go considerable lengths, and did dearly love to 


12 


Two Kisses. 


make society hold up its hands, raise its eyebrows, and prophesy infinite tribulation, 
as the final result of her “ goings on.” But for all that, when society had called her 
a most outrageous flirt, stigmatized her as fast, flighty, and frivolous, society had 
alleged all that society was strictly entitled to state concerning her. Of course 
society insinuated rather more, and pitied the blindness of her unfortunate husband; 
but those who knew Mrs. Payntcr best told a ditferent story, and vowed that she was 
fill’ too confirmed a flirt even to be capable of a grande passion. At all events, her 
easy-going husband seemed to understand her, and, though she would plunge into the 
most audacious flirtations at times under his very nose, never manifested the slightest 
symptoms of jealous}*. 

Of course, Mrs. Paynter had seen people in search of eligible matrimonial compan- 
ions many times — had indeed lent assistance more than once to the riveting of the 
chains called by courtesy golden ; albeit the occasional clanking of such chains on 
society’s ear would now and then lead to reflections of their being at times composed 
of somewhat baser metal. But it did strike Mrs. Payntcr that for cool, deliberate 
assertion of such purpose, she had never heard anything to equal Cissy Ilemsworth. 

The quiet audacity of the intention, too, rather amused her. This girl of twenty- 
two, widow of a fraudulent bankrupt, as it would seem, with just a thousand pounds 
left, and not an acquaintance in all London but herself, announced her design of 
marrying again, as if she had nothing in the world to do but sit in that pretty room in 
Hanover street till she gave permission to somebody (somebody peculiarly indefinite 
at the present) to carry her to St. George’s Church, close by. 

“ Well, my dear,” exclaimed IMrs. Paynter, at length, “ I am not going to say you 
are not right; but. Cissy, has it never occurred to you that husbands, to use a homely 
expression, don’t grow on every bush ? You arc very attractive and charming and all 
that, and I am sure look wonderfully pretty in your mourning. P)Ut then you sec it 
is a mercenary world that we live in, and the men — the wretches ! — will inquire what 
sort of dot they are to get with their wives.” 

“ Yes, I know it is so with many ; but there are always some ready to take you for 
yourself — at least, I should think so. Don’t you imagine, Lizzie, that as there are 
Avomen Avho want taking care of, so there are also men Avho want some one to take 
care of ? ” 

“ No, indeed, I don’t,” rejoined Mrs. Paynter, bluntly. 

“ Oh, Avell, we shall sec. It Avill be so Avith me,” replied Cissy, dreamily, as she 
leant her check upon her hand. 

“She’s a fool — a doAvnright fool,” thought Mrs. Payntcr. “She seems to think 
that IMrs. IIcmsAVorth in lodgings in I^iondon, knoAving nobody, occupies the same 
position as Madame llemsAvorth, at the head of one of the pleasantest houses in Paris. 
Tliat Cissy Ilemsworth, Avith a fcAv hundreds only remaining to licr, is the same 
Avoman as Cissy llemsAVorth, with carriages, servants, liorscs, and unlimited credit at 
Woilh’s. Well, it Avill be an aAvakening Avhen it docs come, and, poor thing, I shall 


Nottingham Goose Fair. 


13 


be Sony for her. Howl ever could have thought her — thought what I did think 
about her. Deep — I feel ashamed of myself in face of such innocence.” 

“ I must be going,” observed Mrs. Paynter, at length, “ but you must come and 
dine with us to-morrow. If I was not going out, I’d say to-night. I want you to 
know my husband. He always likes every one I like, and sometimes, though not 
often,” she continued, with a little grimace, “ some people I don’t. He knows how 
kind you were to me in Paris, and that is quite sufficient to ensure his being partic- 
ularly attentive to you. Good-by, dear ; I must endeavor to find somebody to take 
care of you, for I really can’t see how it is to come about unless I do.” 

“ Oh, it w'ill come time enough,” returned Cissy, smiling, as she embraced her 
visitor. 

“ I am afraid she thinks me very foolish,” mused the widow, as she gazed out of 
the window after Mrs. Pay liter’s carriage ; “ everybody always has. Father first, then 
my husband, and I wonder how many m(5I*e of all those people in Paris. I am sure 
the men seemed to think me a perfect idiot ; at all events, that I didn’t know right 
from wron^ nor clap-trap sentiment from genuine love-making. I don’t think I do 
know anything about the last, though I suppose there really is such a thing.” 


-o-0^:d<00- 


CHAPTER HI. 

NOTTINGHAM GOOSE FAIR. 

It is doubtful whether any town in England boasts of a more magnificent market- 
place than Nottingham. See it on an ordinary w^eek-day, and you will own it is a 
noble square. See it on a market-day, and you will retlcct what a deal of business 
must be doing amongst that busy crowd. Nothing to be seen much then of the lace- 
makers, stocking-weavers, etc., which represent so large a portion of the industry of 
the metropolis of the dukeries. The agriculturists, on such occasions, seem to have 
it all their own way, and you would deem corn, stock, and wool the special com- 
modities in which Nottingham deals. No sign much of that great manufacturing 
population that, after all, makes Nottingham the city that it is. A somewhat rough, 
out-spoken people these last when excited about election matters — not yet quite for- 
gotten a taste for prize-fighting, and other barbaric pastimes of that nature, but 
withal showing rapid signs of succumbing to more gentle culture. A disposition 
for the cultivation of roses, and the more peaceful relaxation of fishing, decidedly 
visible amongst those tempestuous weavers of late. The former in great measure 
attributable, perhaps, to a famous rose-grower of those parts, 'whose delightful 
books would make any one believe that the production of a perfect bloom is to taste 
unfathomable bhss. 


14 


Two Kisses. 


But to see Nottingham market-place in its glory, you must see it during the sat- 
urnalia of its goose fair ; "when the pens are filled with the famous bird of the cap- 
itol. Small, poor, draggled geese, that have been travelled there from remote parts 
of Ireland, are penned next to big, bumptious, corpulent birds, that are fresh from the 
Lincolnshire fenlands ; stubble-fed, white-plumed, strong fellows, with a great deal 
to say for themselves, casting a contemptuous eye on their poor Irish cousins. No 
beasts, no sheep in the market town now, nothing but geese — geese everywhere — 
and you carry not home a Michaehnas goose with you, well, you have not done what 
Nottingham expects of you. 

Shows there are everywhere. Fat ladies, learned pigs, giants, dwarfs, meriy -go- 
rounds, canvas galleries wherein you shoot for nuts with a gun that must be constructed 
with a curve in it, so far does it project its steel-tipped dart to the right or left of the 
target. Theatres of the kind to which Bichardson has bequeathed his immortal 
name, — or is that vagrant Thespian still tranl^ing it in the flesh like another wandering 
Jew? "Wild beast shows, 'Wombwell’s — the original Wombwell’s — no connection 
with Wombwell’s — with the hairless horse of the Pampas, with the three-horned 
rhinoceros, with the only black South American panther ever exhil)ited. Sound the 
trumpets, beat the drums, — “ Here you are, uoav’s your time ! All in, and a-going to 
begin ^mediately. Walk up, ladies and gentlemen. This performance is unparal- 
leled — it never was paralleled — it never can be paralleled — that it should ever be 
paralleled is a parabolical impossibility. What is sixpence for such an unparalleled 
exhibition ? Dash me, but I’d rather lend you the money than you should miss this 
unparalleled opportunity.” 

Cackle, cackle, cackle, go the bipeds in feathers, gabble, gabble, gabble, go the 
bipeds without, and from the great market-place of Nottingham one stupendous 
babble resounds through the air, and proclaims that “ the goose fair ” is in full blast, — 
a Avild confusion that might drive a quiet stranger well-nigh out of his senses. Not- 
tingham, too, is all abroad — in high spirits, in every sense of the term — liere with a 
laugh and a jest in it, there Avith a hiccup and a reel in it, l)ut merry, yes, decidedly 
merry, AAdiether treating its SAveethcart to the shows, or treating its cronies to beer or 
strong Avaters. For it is a fUe day at Nottingham this, and her citizens of all kinds 
respond nobly to her summons to give themselves up to diversion, and let labor go 
hang for the present. Apt indeed to let labor go hang on this occasion considerably 
longer than is good for those dependent on them. Like much more saturnalia, it 
opens Avith feasting and finishes Avith fasting in many a household. 

At a corner of the market-place, evidently not the least dismayed by the turmoil 
around him, stands on the top of the bench a plump little, dark man, indulging in 
most voluble harangue to the crowd that surrounds him; a sleek, clean-shaved, little 
man, Avith a keen, tAvinkling ])lack eye, and an expression of such imi)erturbable 
good-humor and self-satisfaction, that a loungei’ Avith money in his pockets Avould 
have felt almost impelled to spend a trifle Avith him. lie Avas of the Cheap Jack genus 


Nottingham Goose Fair. 


15 


— dealing apparently in everything, and was vaunting his wares '\Yith a flow of language 
that seemed inexhaustible. 

“ Why won’t I part with this here valuable cameo ? Why not, indeed ? Now, I’ll 
tell you : cos I’ve just got a telegraph from the Empress of rerii to say she’ll take it 
on my own terms — * Your own terms, Mr. Turbottle,’ that’s what the orgust lady 
says ; but I always have dealt straight with Nottingham, and I always will. Spring 
sixpence, say four shillings, and the brooch is yours, sir. What, you won’t ? Well, 
I’ve a good mind to give it away. But come, I can do better with you than that. 
Short of money, are you ? That’s what’s the matter, is it ? Blessed if I didn’t fancy 
it might be so. Trade’s -trade, says I, and money must be turned over somehow. 
What constitootes the prosperity- of England ? Why, trade. Block thesources of trade, 
and you bust up, that’s what you do. Now, look here, this is a half-sovereign, this 
is, no nonsense about it, a genuine half-sovereign. I’m going to sell a lot of them at 
nine shillings apiece, just to put a little heart in you. Who’ll have the first ? What, 
you’re afraid, are you ? Now, sir, you look like a man with an account at your 
banker s ; just oblige me by examining that article.” 

The lounger addressed was a tall, dark-bearded man, attired in a shooting-jacket 
and low-crowned hat, who, together with a companion, had been idly listening with 
much apparent amusement to the voluble discourse of Mr. Turbottle. Thus appealed 
to he stepped forward and took the proffered half-sovereign, examined it carefully, 
and, with a laugh, said, Good enough for me — there’s your nine shillings.” 

Thank you, sir,” replied Mr. Turbottle, gracefully lifting his hat. “ It’s a com- 
fort to get some one to believe in one anyhow, in this here stiff-necked, incredulous 
city. Now, you scoffers, and scorners, you hear what the gentleman says. Who’s for 
the next ? Here you are again, — a real, genuine half-sovereign for nine shillings. I’m 
bound to sell if I can ; so let’s ^be quick and have done with ’em. You can’t expect 
me to waste time over a losing lot like this.” 

Here a country-looking fellow took heart and purchased a half-sovereign, amid con- 
siderable interest and misgiving amongst the crowd. But this, too, was perfectly 
genuine, and readily converted into ten shillings at an adjoining shop. The demand 
for half-sovereigns at nine shillings apiece waxed brisk, and Mr. Turbottle had no 
occasion to make use of his oratory in furtherance of his trade for the present, and in 
every instance did the purchased coin prove a veritable half-sovereign. 

But that worthy after disposing of a dozen on these terms, curtly announced that he 
had no more. 

“Not my fault, gentlemen,” he exclaimed, “ I took all they had at the Bank of 
England ; but as the manager says, — says he to me, * Mr. Turbottle,’ — which these are 
his words, — ‘ you know what Nottingham Goose F air is — you know there’s nothing like 
it in all England ; and there aint. AVell, Mr. Turbottle, it draws us dry, — that’s wot 
it does, — and if there was an}'' call in particklar on the nation that week — well, Mr. Tur- 


IG 


Two Kisses, 


bottle, the nation would bust up, that’s what it would do, unless Nottingham came to 
the front, which in course we both know Nottingham alway has and alway will.’ ” 

As he uttered the above, he was busied about the packages in front of him, for he 
had descended from his elevation while disposing of the half-sovereigns. At last he 
had apparently got things to his satisfaction, for he once more jumped up on his 
bench and exclaimed : — 

“ Now, my independent citizens, here you are again. Talk about buying half- 
sovereigns at nine shillings apiece, that aint good enough for you. It aint good 
enough for me, — shall I tell you why ? If I can’t make my fortune quick, I aint agoing 
to take twelve months to get ruined. That’s where it is. Sudden death, says I, and 
no dying by slow consumption. It’d take me a year or two to get through my prop- 
erty at that rate. Now you see this ? What is it ? Why, a toasting-fork, aint it ? 
It s not a very good un, it aint a very bad un. Now, I’ll sell this for one shilling, neither 
more nor less. Too much, — wait a moment, and hear me out. Who says a shilling 
for the toasting-fork, and I’ll give the buyer half a crown for luck, and if that hurts 
you, you are sensitive. What, you’ll have it ? There you arc, my dear, and if the fork 
aint all it should be, the half-crown ’ll make up for it.” 

The crowd flocked around the giggling, blushing country-girl who had purchased, 
and once more were they nonplussed ; whatever you might think of the toasting-fork, 
the half-crown was unmistakably as genuine as the half-sovereigns. Nobody was 
perhaps more amused at this new development of the game of humbugging your 
neighbors, than that black-bearded lounger, who had bought the first half-sovereign. 

A shrewd and rising London barrister, Montague Gore, had come down to Notting- 
ham on professional business, and so found himself a spectator of the Goose Fair. 

“ Stay,” he exclaimed to his companion, who manifested signs of impatience. “ We 
have nothing to do now, you know, but enjoy the humors of the fair. It’s not often I 
get a holiday. I am curious to sec how this clever scamp proposes to recoup himself. 
One can’t suppose that he intends the crowd he has collected to go away scatheless. 
You’re no fisherman. Fox, or you would understand what ground-baiting a hole 
means. That is what this man is doing just now ; but, my life on it, he sticks the hook 
pretty sharply into some of their gills before he’s done with ’em.” 

“ Think the whole thing rather a bore myself,” replied Mr. Fox Brine ; “ most 
things are ; still I don’t know that witnessing that sleek little i*uffian in grass-green, 
with the gold-banded hat, consummate his elaborate villaiiy would weary me more 
than anything else. Stay! Certainly, by all means, if it interests you — always stay 
when anything docs that. I can’t say I feel any curiosity about his fraudulent pro- 
ceedings (they’re sure to become fraudulent) at present; but I may. Having bought 
that half-sovereign below its current value, he will probably appeal to you to bail him 
out, when the indignant public hand him over to the police. The present public, by 
the way, are likely, 1 should imagine, to pound him to a jelly, as soon as they discover 
his of course ultimate intention of getting the best of them.” 


Nottingham Goose Fair. 


17 


“ Listen to him,” replied Gore ; “ look, he puts up a frying-pan.” 

Here you are again, — a frying-pan that takes the change out of nature altogether 
— a pan, bless you, that multiplies the rasher you put into it. An ai*ticle like this 
wants no talking about. Going for one shilling. I’ll take neither more nor less, and 
I’ve a present for whoever buys it,” cried Mr. Turbottle. “What is it? Well, it’s 
not as heavy as the income tax, nor as light as most of your pockets. AWio’ll have 
the frying-pan ? Thank you, sir, and there’s that invaluable article, and a bright new 
shilling to boot in exchange for your own dirty one. Here you are again ; quick, 
always go on when you’re in luck ; it’s real bargains I’m selling you. Go on ? — yes, 
I’m bound to go on ; who ever heard of any one pulling up on the road to ruin ? 
Dash it all ! let me get it over. Ilere’s-half a-dozen plates ; who takes them at a 
shilling, with faith in my generosity ? Now, don’t stop, thinking about it ; I’ll grow 
avaricious if I’m kept waiting.” 

Again was the stipulated shilling tendered, and this time Mr. Turbottle threw in a 
glass bottle, evidently quite worth the money. In a similar manner he disposed of 
some half-dozen more lots, but all manifestly to the buyer’s advantage considerably. 
The crowd gathered thicker and thicker round the bench from which such good 
things were clistributediN 

“Bah!” exclaims Mr. Turbottle, at last; “getting monotonous, aint it? We’ll 
change the game, eh ? 

“ ‘ Safe to win when I begin, 

Tommy Dodd ! Tommy Dodd ! 

Glasses round, cigars as Avell ; 

Tommy Dodd ! Tommy Dodd ! 

“ ‘ Now, my boys, we’ll all go in. 

Tommy Dodd ! Tommy Dodd ! 

We’ll clean him out — yes, just about; 

Hurrah for Tommy Dodd ! ’ ” 

It is impossible to describe the unction with which Mr. Turbottle trolled out this 
flash music-hall chorus to his hearers, or to express on paper the humorous wink he 
favored them with as he concluded it. 

“ Tommy Dodding again, my dears. Lor, wot a game it is ! Here’s the next invest- 
ment in the programme. Making your fortin aint accomplished by looking^ on, and 
I shan’t manage a ruining of myself if you don’t tumble up to buy quicker than 
you’ve been doing, you know. Here you are! What is it? Well, it’s a lucifer 
match ; and I don’t warrant it to go off unless you hold it to 3*our sweetheart’s eyes, 
and then, if he’s true to you, rockets aint nothing to it. I’m going to sell sixty of 
these matches, invented by Professor Pelligrinismolensko, at sixpence a piece ; and I’ll 
give you a silver thimble in. No sale till I get sixty sixpences. Money returned if 


18 


Two Kisses. 


there are only fifty-nine. Now, young ladies, this is your chance. If you can’t trust 
your sweethearts, don’t buy, that’s my advice to you. What’s a silver thimble com- 
pared to a sore heart ? Quite right, sir ; don’t let her buy one,” he suddenly 
exclaimed, pointedly addressing a rough-looking countryman, with a fresh, rosy- 
cheeked girl clinging to him. “My lucifers won’t go otf at such eyes as yours; 
they’ve been wandering all round the fair.” 

A roar of laughter welcomed this little personality. It always does upon such 
occasions, and is one of the usual tricks of these traders. 

“ I’m a good mind to brcaak every boane in his body, Molly,” growled the assailed, 
with all the natural urbanity of the English agriculturist. 

“ Hush, Tom, hush ! ” whispered the girl, nudging him. “ I’m going to buy a 
match.” 

“ If thee does, thou’rt a fool,” replied her lover in a hoarse whisper. 

What will not woman dare in pursuit of such dangerous intelligence ? Despite her 
lover’s rough remonstrance, Molly, nothing doubting and curious, led the way. Both 
men and women swarmed up to follow her example. In less than ten minutes at 
least eighty people were walking away with a lucifer match and a small, elaborately 
donc-up parcel, supposed to contain the silver thimble. The trade was brisk past con- 
ception, and, relaxing from his oratory, Mr. Turbottle gravely supplied his customers 
with matches. 

But, clear of the crush, Molly opened her parcels, as did many others, and it became 
manifest at once that these thimbles were of Brummagen manufacture, and with slight 
pretension to silver ; being, in good sooth, worth at the outside about a penny a piece. 
Then slowly but surely rose a murmur of wrath against tlie vendor, in which those 
who had profited l)y his previous sales joined quite as readily as those who were the 
victims of his last exposition of the interesting game of Tommy Dodd. Did they 
expect that the benevolent Turbottle was ne ver to sell except at a dead loss ? It 
seemed so. For cries of Shai’per ! Bobber! Cheat! commenced to be rife among the 
crowd. Still Turbottle seemed equal to the occasion. 

“ Come, my turbulent pippins,” cried that orator, once more mounting his bench, 
“ you mus’nt cry out before you’re hurt. If them thimbles aint silver, they’d deceive 
the I’rince of Wales himself, — which here’s long life to him ! How about the matches ? 
You can’t try ’em except in the dark. There’s no deception about them. Mark my 
words, you men who’s dissatisfied are afraid of your sweethearts’ lighting ’em, — that’s 
what you are. You can’t except to play Tommy Dodd always on your side, can you ? 
Here we are again. Y’'ou’ve had your turn ; I’ve had mine. Now I’ll tell you wliat 
I’ll do with you.” 

“ v\nd I’ll show you what I’ll do with you, mister,” growled an ominous voice from 
just below the speaker’s post of vantage. 

It was the cross-grained laborer, upon whom Mr. Turbottle had exercised his humor, 


19 


■ Nottingham Goose Fair. 

that spoke. lie had a sullen, savage expression in his face that boded mischief. A 
common type of his class, excess of beer went through an established course of fer- 
mentation within him; four distinct stages of intoxication invariably visible, the 
supply of malt not being cut off, the loquacious, the quarrelsome, the boisterous and 
jocular, and the maudlin. He had only attained the second phase of beer at present, 
and consequently was in the mood to resent Mr. Turliottle’s jokes fiercely. Utterly 
ignoring his sweetheart’s successful purchase of the toasting-fork, he deemed that the 
little disappointment concerning the silver thimble was due warrant for giving vent to 
his wrafh ; and, despite Molly’s entreaties, had pushed his way back through the 
crowd for the express purpose of what he termed “ having a settlement with that 
green-coated chap.” 

“ Nonsense, my man,” retorted Mr. Turbottle, loftily, “ if you go for bargains at 
public auctions, you gets ’em or you doesn’t, as is very well known. Your young 
woman anyways has no call to find fault. That’ll do, I ain’t going to have you coming 
up here.” 

But whether Mr. Turbottle was going to have it or not apparently did not rest with 
Mr. Turbottle. The countryman, with his heavy frame and brawny shoulders, was 
hardly to be kept at bay by the plump little pcdlcr. Luckily help Avas at hand. 

Come on. Fox,” exclaimed Montague Gore. “ I won’t see our little friend put 
upon by that great hulking brute,” and he pushed his way rapidly towards the bench 
which formed Mr. Turbottlc’s rostrum. 

“'Where Don Quixote leads, I suppose Sancho Panza must follow,” replied Fox 
Brine, quietly, “llow' nice you’ll look in court with a black eye next Wednesday, 
philanthropically gathered, too, in preventing a cheap jack from receiving the due 
reward of his mendacity ! Push on ; when you sober people do make fools of your- 
selves you always go in a cracker, / have observed.” 

By the time they had w^orked their way through the crowd to the centre of action, 
it was evident that the countryman was not without supporters. In vain did Mr. 
Turbottle appeal to the British spirit of fair play. There was an undeniable disposi- 
tion apparent to handle him roughly and capsize his stand. It was useless for him to 
argue they could not expect that there should be no blanks among the prizes ; that 
they could hardly suppose he was always to be disposing of his wares at considerable 
sacrifice ; that he must have his little innings at the game of Tommy Dodd as well 
as themselves. They did not see it, and they Avere not to be induced to see it. He 
had said he meant to ruin himself. Well, they Avould take care he should be for the 
present, pretty etfectually. Nottingham affected not to understand chaff in his case, 
and repudiated all notion that his statements should be taken otherwise than en veriid. 
It promised to go hard with Mr. Turbottle, when Montague Gore’ and his friend sud- 
denly appeared by that disconsolate trader’s side. 

“ Come, my men,” exclaimed Gore ; “ no violence. You’ve nothing to complain of. 
If he had the best of the last venture, you had the pull of those before.” 


20 


Two Kisses. 


“ 'Who be you, I’d loike to know ? ” retorted Tom, g:rimly, thrusting himself forward. 

“ I must trouble you, my clumsy friend, to mind where you are putting your hoofs,” 
observed Fox Brine, in his most nonchalant manner. 

“ I’ll be putting ’em on your faace, my foine fellow, if you doan’t quit that,” rejoined 
the countryman, fiercely. 

“ My good man, you’d really better go home. I shall be jmt to the trouble of 
knocking you down if you’re insolent, and the police will most likely take you up for 
creating a disturbance if you assault our little friend here.” 

All the savage instincts of the countryman’s nature were roused by Brine’s con- 
temptuous retort. lie lowered his head and rushed in on his opponent like a bull. 
But Fox Brine had been an athletic in his university days, and had learned, among 
other diversions of that nature, to use his fists. The old training and his constitutional 
coolness stood him in good stead now. It all happened in a moment, but the country- 
man’s rush was stopped by a quick one, two, that threw his head up, and before he’d 
time to recover himself, what the fancy would designate as a neat upper cut caught 
him just under the chin, made his teeth rattle like a box of dominoes, and stretched 
him half senseless on the ground. 

The situation still looked awkward for Mr. Turbottle and his champions, but the 
mob hesitated as mobs always do on receiving a prompt repulse in the first instance. 
Before the redoubtable Tom was reinstated on his feet the police intervened, and that 
hero was given into custody by Fox Brine for assault. Ilis followers disappeared 
with exceeding rapidity, and Mr. Turbottle and his allies were left masters of the 
field. 

“ A bad business, very,” exclaimed the little man, shaking his head. 

“ Confound it ! ” rejoined Montague Gore ; “ I don’t think you’ve much cause to 
complain. If it hadn’t been for my friend here, you were likely to have been in a 
parlous state before another five minutes had gone by.” 

“ Gentlemen, I thank you both much. If it hadn’t been for your interference, I 
don’t deny but it might have gone a little rough upon me. But you see my pitch is 
done for the day. I’ll sell nothing more here this afternoon, and I’d have done a deal 
in dufier brooches, car-rings, and so on, if it hadn’t been for this here unlucky mis- 
understanding, which it can’t be helped, anyway. They were rising, too, beautiful. 
All the salt had taken extraordinary well. Beg pardon, gents, but that’s what we call 
the bargains we always begin with.” 

“Well, come up to the ‘George,’ and ask for me, as soon as you have packed up 
your traps; there’s my card. You can start again in the evening, you know,” said 
Gore. 

“ That’s so,” responded Mr. Turbottle, blithely. “ I’ll look in and thank you kindly, 
gentlemen both.” 

“ Think our friend will turn out amusing in the social circle ? ” inquired Fox Brine, 
as they walked away. 


Mr. Turbottle's Story. 


21 


“ I can’t say, but I am curious to have a talk with him. As for you, Fox, who are 
always about to perpetrate a novel or a drama, you ought to regard him as a study. 
He may prove quite a valuable character for you.” 

Fox Brine made no reply. Gore’s remark exactly described him. A clever man, 
whom his friends were always expecting to do something ; but he had never done it. 
lie had projected novels and plays without end ; but unfortunately he always stopped 
there. He never worked out these conceptions. He was always whispering promising 
plots, tremendous tableaux, and striking situations, into the ears of his intimates ; but 
the eggs never got hatched somehow. It was said of him that he was a man of ideas, 
and that his nearest approach to becoming a veritable author had been the writing of 
a preface for a novel which he had never commenced. Possessed of just sufficient 
means to scramble along on as a bachelor in chambers. Fox Brine never could harden 
his heart and sit down really to work. Had he been a poorer man, he might perhaps 
have made his mark and achieved some success in literature. As it was, he had got 
no further than always intending to do so. There were times when he half believed 
that he really was doing something — when he got out sheets of paper and sketched 
out wondrous stories and plays. Then he would talk complacently to his friends of 
these, as things done, but they never were done ; never, indeed, got further than this. 
Still Fox Brine always considered himself affiliated to literature. 

Musing over his friend Gore’s last remark, he felt now quite prepared to accept Mr. 
Turbottle from an artistic point of view. 




CHAPTER lY. 

MR. turbottle’s STORY. 

Satiated with the humors of the Goose Fair, Gore and Fox Brine were whilingr 
away an hour over a cigar in the George Hotel, preparatoiy to an early dinner, when 
Mr. Turbottle was announced. 

The little man had evidently indulged in much brushing and ablution since the 
adventure of the morning, and raised his gold-banded hat with a most jaunty air as 
he entered the room. There was something irresistibly comic in his appearance : in 
the bright-green coat, with its gilt buttons, in the rather high shirt-collar, in the 
twinkling black eyes, in his generally plump, jovial ligure. You felt certain that jf 
there was nothing particularly funny in what he said, there would be in his w'ay of 
saying it. 

We have all seen this. We have all met noted causeurSy renowned for the humor 
of their story-telling. As a rule their stories have very little in them. It is the way 


22 


Two Kisses. 


they tell them. It is not till the neophyte narrates the tale he has learned from their 
lips that you see how much it owed to the original teller. 

“ I have looked in, gentlemen both, agreeable to invitation. INIr. Gore, sir, allow 
me to thank you once more for interfering in my favor ; also the t’other gentleman, 
whose name I haven’t the pleasure of knowing, but who popped in in his right so 
handily at the critical moment.” 

“ Sit down, Mr. Turbottle, and have something to wash the dust out of your throat.” 

“ Thank you, sir, thank you. Something cooling would be grateful. The ingrati- 
tude of the populace is still sticking in my gizzard. To think of their turning rusty 
over the match trick. The unruly passions of the multitude are always upsetting 
trade, which is the science of doing or being done by your neighbors. The great 
game of Tommy Dodd requires level temper on the part of all parties concerned.” 

“But,” rejoined Fox Brine, “it might occur to a gentleman of your powers 
of observation that the British public is wont to wax wroth when he linds himself 
done.” 

“ What business has the B. P. to do anything of the sort. They couldn’t suppose 
I was going to lose money by ’em all day,” retorted Mr. Turbottle, hotly; “ I act 
strictly on principle. I sells ’em bargains to start with to establish a connection, 
and then I sells ’em precious hard bargains to make my living by afterwanls. They 
needn’t buy unless they like — there’s their remedy. They aint no business to cut 
up lumpy cos they don’t always win, that’s what I say ; ” and the little man threw 
himself back in his chair with the air of a man who has propounded a regular 
clincher. 

“Were j’ou always in Amur present line?” inquired Gore, much amused at his 
guest’s theory of trade. “ By the Avay, what do you call yourself? ” 

Mr. Turbotile sat straight up in his chair, looked his interlocutor veiy direct in the 
face, like a man who felt that his statement might be challenged. 

“ I am a travelling merchant, sir, all hough the ribald multitude usually think fit to 
call me a ‘Cheap Jack.’ That for the ribald multitude, as a rule,” continued the 
little man, snapping his fingers ; “ but they had me this morning, and no mistake.” 

It had struck Brine more than once that there Avas some incongruity in this man’s 
talk. Sometimes, thbugli rather intlated, his language Avas so much better than at 
others. 

“But you A\mre not always a — a — cheap — I mean travelling merchant, Avere 
you ? ” 

“ No,” replied Mr. Turbottle, “ no, my noble gladiator, I A\\asn’t. I’ve tried a many 
trades in my time. I began life on this very circuit as a boother. But 1 suppose 1 
hadn’t what tiiey call histrionic talent, for I never rose very liigh in that profession. 
INIy manager paid mo the compliment of saying, that nobody ever learnt his Avords 
quicker or delivered them Avorse than I did. He said I hadn’t voice enough, but 
thought if I’d study up for the big drum, I’d make myself heard. Well, I thought a 


Mr. Turbottle' s Story. 


23 


pound a week for towelling the sheepskin wasn’t a big thing to look forward to; 
besides it spoils your carriage, you know, and I always went in for elegance in those 
days, so I told him that wasn’t good enough for me.” 

“ Might we inquire what did seem good enough in your eyes ? ” asked Fox Brine, 
with just a touch of sarcasm in his tone. 

There was an angry flush on Mr. Turbottle’s face as he replied : — 

“ Yes, gentlemen, I don’t mind telling what my life’s been, unless I’m a-boring 
people.” 

If he hadn’t seen Brine develop in the morning that there was plenty of the real 
grit in him, the little man would have probably stopped short in his communicative- 
ness. Like most of his class, he had a perfect horror of being drawn out for the 
amusement of what he called a swell, when otf his rostrum. There it was fair give 
and take. You drew him out then at your own risk, and required to be a past master 
of chatf to hold your own ; but here it was different. 

Montague Gore saw something of this, and at once interposed. 

“ Let me order another glass of that mixture for you, Mr. Turbottle, and then, if 
it isn’t asking too much of you, to tell us a little more of your adventurous career, 
you will be conferring a real favor on the pair of us.” 

Mr. Turbottle’s indignation was easily appeased, and having been supplied with a 
fresh jorum of his favorite beverage, he immediately continued : — 

“Well, gentlemen, when the big drum is the only thing put before you as a career, 
selection is difficult. I went as assistant to a tobacconist in this very town. I knew 
as much of the business, at all events, as I did of the big drum. My master had two 
daughters, the elder, plain and practical ; the younger, a beauty, and frivolous. I fell 
in love with the younger, and she with a young artillery officer quartered here. She 
went off with him, and then the elder married me, because she chose to do so. I 
never did quite know how it came about, but she made a real good wife as long as she 
lived, poor soul. Here’s her health, anyway,” said the little man, plaintively, 
“ though she was a bit aggravating at times. But she kept me straight, gentlemen. 
She wouldn’t have no late hours, — not she. None of your ‘jolly companions every 
one,’ nor anything of that sort would she stand. Well, I went on Tommy Dodding 
in that line for some years, selling prime Havanas at foui-pence, which I got from 
Liverpool for a penny, and did well. It’s a paying business, is the cigar trade, if 
you’ve got a connection; and ours was not a bad un. Then the old man died, which 
he had got that contrarious of late years, it was getting time he took hisself off to 
something that suited him better, and about five, years back, my old lady followed 
him. ‘ Timothy,’ says she to me, at the last, ‘ you’ll never get along in the cigar line 
without me ; you’d better give up the business and try something else.’ I took her 
advice, and did ; but I think she was wrong, I’ve never settled to anything since. 
I’ve tried half-a-dozen trades, and have been for the last eighteen months in my 
present one.” 


24 


Two Kisses, 


“ Thank } ou,” replied Gore. “ I suppose you always travel the circuit ? ” 

“ As a rule, yes, sir; I’m as reg’lar as if I belonged to the Midland Bar. Warwick, 
Derby, Leeds, I’ve a turn at ’em all at times. I’ve many a friends in this town, and 
only I missed my usual pitch, you’d not have seen ’em turn lumpy as they did this 
morning. They didn’t quite know me at that end of the market-place. Wish you 
good-day, gentlemen.” 

Both his entertainers rose and shook hands with him, a compliment at which the 
little man was much gratified, and with wishes expressed on both sides that they 
might meet again ere long, Mr. Turbottle and his hat, it really did seem a most 
important part of him, took their departure. 

“Which is he, Monte,” asked Brine, as their guest’s steps died aAvay in the 

distance, “ most knave or fool ? ” 

“ He’s certainly no fool, and in spite of his peculiar commercial ideas I don’t think 
he is a knave. He’s a rare study for you, my artistic friend. My belief is this, that 
though he would do you unscrupulously in the way of business — he has already told 
us you must do or be done — you would otherwise find him a perlectly honest, con- 
scientious man. He struck me as one of the most singular combinations of shrewd- 
ness and simplicity I have ever met.” 

“Did he ? I only wish he had interested me half as much. He merely struck me 
as one of the most loquacious, drinking old fools I ever came acioss. 

“No wonder you don’t get on in your trade. Fox, it you can t sec material Avhen 
you come across it.” 

It was rather unkind. It was piercing Brine in the most sensitive part of his 
cuticle to insinuate that he could overlook character in any shape ; then to mix up 
with it the self-evident truism that he had not got on in his profession. He un- 
doubtedly professed literature, and undoubtedly could point to no work satisfactorily 
achieved in that direction ; but did not every one knoAV that he only did so in a 
dilettante way ? And yet it was sometimes a sore subject with Fox Brine that he had 
done nothing. It was not that he had tried and failed — it was simply he had lacked 
energy to try. The belief in himself had not as yet been knocked out ot him, and 
our capabilities in literature we usually rate pretty high, till failure has convinced us 
that we are not quite the shining lights Ave once thought ourselves. 

“ I can quite agree with you, Montie,” ho rejoined, lazily, at length, speaking 
indeed with more than usual deliberation, as sell-contained men are apt to do, when 
their assailant’s arrow has hit the buH’s-cyc. “He’s but a type of his class no 
unusual one, I fancy.” 

“ But Avhat an eccentric class it is for one thing ; you’re Avrong about him, I suspect 
for another; he’s not a common specimen. There’s a story behind what we have 
lieard, I’d lay my life. If Ave could have ventured to inquire the fate of the runaway 
sister, for instance.” 

“He’d have known nothing,” returned Brine. “Her history, probably, would be 


Mrs, Paynter at Home, 25 

that of most young women who have run away with men socially above themselves, 
— bad to investigate.” 

“ You’ll never be a novelist, Fox, or a dramatist. You are wanting in imagination. 
I believe I could have been both if I had ever had time to go in for it.” 

“ Most people do ; and when they go in for it, they become aware that it’s not quite 
so easy a business as they deemed it. The reviewers disabuse their souls of infatua- 
tion with small ceremony. Reviewing must be rather jolly,” continued Brine, medi- 
tatively ; “ you pitch in with no risk of being pitched into.” 

Pooh ! the critics do their duty to the best of their ability. They have a good 
deal of rubbish to adjudicate upon, and can do no less than say that they think it so.” 

‘‘ Yes ; but when it happens to be your rubbish, you’d like to argue the point with 
them.” 

“Of course,” replied Gore, laughing; “but I am afraid the public would not care 
to hear that argument. At all events editors don’t think they would. But here’s 
dinner, and by the time w^e have finished it our train will be pretty well due.” 

“ Hum ! sole result of Nottingham Goose Fair, which, you villain, you swore was 
amusing, is that I have ascertained I have not quite lost the art of boxing. As well, 
perhaps, I met a most unscientific antagonist, or I might have been much less pleased 
with myself.” 

And, with this philosophical reflection, Mr. Fox Brine seated himself at table. 

CHAPTER V. 

MRS. PAYNTER AT HOME. 

Mrs. Pay’NTER was mistress of a very pretty house out by the Regent’s park ; and 
there was no pleasanter lounge in all London, vowed those privileged of the entrie. 
The hostess had a large and heterogeneous acquaintance. There were her husband’s 
city friends, who somehow never felt quite at their ease in her bright drawing-rooms ; 
there were her own rather Bohemian acquaintance, composed principally of artists, 
authors, two or three theatrical ladies, rising barristers, etc., but mostly people with 
something in them — with talent, if it was only that of making themselves disagreeable. 
Either man or woman who can do that has established a footing in society. Every 
one abuses them ; but then every one invites them for fear of the consequences of 
leaving them out. Then there were stray people whom Mrs. Paynter had picked up 
on the Continent, and in divers places. That lady repudiated exclusiveness, and was 
utterly indifterent as to what public opinion might murmur regarding her receptions. 
She numbered, too, a few of society’s creme de la creme on her visiting list — men princi- 
pally, it must be admitted ; but these were rather proud of the entree of Mrs. Paynter’s 


2G 


Two Kisses. 


salon, and would often throw over very grand invitations indeed for one of Lizzie’s 
charade parties, little dinners down the river, or gay dances. She never gave balls ; 
but what she airily denominated “just a valse or two on the carpet and supper,” was 
worth a dozen regular balls. 

It is the pleasantest time of the year in London, — the beginning of October; just 
a crackle of frost in the morning air, perhaps to be followed by bright sunshine and 
a crisp atmosphere ; much ozone in these early October days that quickens the blood 
in the veins, and makes the pulses tingle. Men are dropping back from the long 
vacation, bronzed and braced from moor and mountain ; refreshed, regenerated from 
strand and stream. Hearty hand-grips are being exchanged in street and chambers, 
as the busy toilers of professional London once more put their necks to the collar. 

!Mrs. Paynter designates this the theatrical season. She is particularly fond of 
making up little cosey parties for an earl}" dinner, and a box at the theatre afterwards 
— a quartette which her husband may join if he thinks fit, is Mrs. Paynter’s idea of 
seeing the drama. John Paynter thinks theatricals rather a bore, and seldom takes 
advantage of such opportunity. To get up anything like a dinner for the widow was, 
of course, preposterous ; her crape was as yet too deep to admit of her joining in such 
festivity. But just two cavaliers to take care of them to the Gayety, she surely couldn’t 
mind that. She could sit as far back in the box as she liked, and really she could have 
nothing but the proprieties to think about. It was quite impossible she could have 
had any regard for Mark Ilemsworth ; and, at all events, there had been three months 
to get over such regrets as might have been. 

Mrs. Paynter, reflecting in this wise as she drove away from Hanover street, on 
aiTiving at her own house, thought she could do no better than scribble a couple of 
notes. The first came glibly enough, and was directed to Captain Detfield, of Her 
Majesty’s Guards. He was her favored cavalier for the time being, and, as she knew 
he was in town, who shall say how much that fact had to do with the programme she 
was making out for Cissy Hemsworth’s delectation ? 

“ Now,” muttered Mrs. Paynter to herself, “ comes the difiiculty. Who’s to be the 
other ? As far as a dangler to flirt with for the night goes, there’s half a dozen I 
might write to, and they generally come when I send for them if they can ; but I 
should like to put a substantial admirer in her way at once if I could, — some one 
that would do for a husband if she subjugated him ; and if the way the men ran after 
her in Paris may be taken as a test, she’ll not want adorers here. Dear me, who shall 
I get ? There’s Mr. Brulfles, — he’s awfully rich and awfully stupid; but then Cissy 
can’t expect everything. No, he won’t do ; at all events for to-night. Charlie Det- 
ficld always makes such fun of him, and though he don’t see much, I think he docs 
sec that. Old Sir Marmadukc Rivers, — dreadful old man ! — he’s on the look-out for a 
third wife ; — but I’m not sure he’s in town. Stop, I have it ! Montague Gore, if 1 can 
catch him, — he’s the man. He is really nice, and they say making over two thousaml 
a year now, and his practice increasing every day ; not very impressible though,” 


Mrs. Paynter at Home. 


27 


mused Lizzie, with some recollection of having signally failed upon one occasion to 
entangle that gentleman in a flirtation, — a rebuff that she had always felt a little 
aggrieved about, although they still remained good friends ; but a woman never quite 
forgives a man for having been insensible to her fascinations, and Lizzie Fayntcr 
always felt she should be tempted to make another assault, if opportunity offered. 
Not that she was smitten with him, but he had declined to take advantage of the 
opening she had given him at a certain water-picnic a year ago, — instead of flirting 
with her he had been simply courteous and polite, — insensibly stupid, Mrs. Paynter 
called it. That lady had far too good an opinion of her personal attractions to believe 
a man could really refuse such a challenge from her, save on the score of great density, 
or want of savoir vivre. 

Yes, he will do. I suppose he always carries his musty old law business in his 
head, which accounts for his not comprehending us. I will write to him.” 

As Lizzie Paynter glides into her drawing-room to be in readiness to receive her 
guests, she certainly looks as if she had fair grounds for being wrathful wnth any man 
who might refuse to do homage to her charms. Tall and fair, wdth a lovely com- 
plexion, limpid blue eyes, and a very pretty mouth, she is decidedly a very attractive 
woman ; just at the age, too, when a woman is in the meridian of her beauty, and 
thoroughly understands making the very most of her personal advantages. With 
plenty to say for herself, and spirits that rarely flag, no wonder that Lizzie Paynter is 
popular. She is, undoubtedly, with men, and to a certain extent with her own sex, 
for she is good-natured. But then she has terrible piratical tendencies. She is much 
given to lure both husbands and lovers from their allegiance. She is coquette from 
the crown of her head to the rosettes on her slippers, and would fliii; with an arch- 
bishop if placed next him at dinner. She never got- hurt herself in all this iiTCgular 
warfare. She could get so sweetly sentimental, and fancy, for the time being, that 
she was really deeply interested, — it was the main business of her life ; but she never 
lost her head, nor made the mistake of falling seriously in love. Her husband 
probably understood her ; at all events he was of a phlegmatic disposition, and took 
her escapades easily. Scrapes, of course, she now and then got into. Admirers 
would, occasionally, become too much in earnest, and that was awkward. She was 
a clever woman in her way, and rather enjoyed a scene, perhaps, than otherwise, 
providing there 'were no spectators ; but then, as she Avould say, plaintively, “ Men 
will be so foolish sometimes, you know,” and occasionally she had gone so far as to 
be unable to recede without some difticulty. 

Ijizzie is musing over her programme. She has had no answer from Montague 
Gore, which a little troubles her. True, the invitation was so short that she could 
scarcely expect one. She has not heard from Charlie Detfield ; but that doesn’t dis- 
compose her at all. She would have had a note ere this, had he been on Her 
Majesty’s employ, — the only duty she allowed as excuse forfaiting in duty to herself. 


28 


Two Kisses. 


“But if Mr. Gore doesn’t come, it will be iiwkward. I shall have to make John 
come. One g-entlcman to two ladies is so eminently unsatisfactory. 

At this moment the door opened, and Cissy Ilemsworth swept into the room, and 
Lizzie advanced to meet her. 

“ !So very glad to see you, dear. You are to look upon this house as you taught me 
to regard yours in Paris the year before last,-— one where I was always welcome, come 
when I would.” 

“ You are very kind to me,” replied Cissy, softly ; “ hut then T knew you would he.” 

“This is my husband,” continued ISIrs. Paynter, “and this, John, is the Mrs. 
IlemswoiBi, who I told you made Paris Elysium for me the last time I was there.” 

John Paynter welcomed the young widow in genuine hearty fashion. It was quite ^ 
suflicient for him that anybody had been kind or even civil to his wife to insure that 
much at his hands, for, in his quiet, undemonstrative way, he was strongly attached 
to his vivacious partner. But Cissy had a further claim upon him. He knew that 
she was left unprotected, and also in indifferent circumstances, and that appealed 
irresistibly to a man of his generous, chivalrous nature. 

As a matter of course, Lizzie had taken this opportunity to run her guest over. 
How well she looks, and how beautifully she is dressed, she thought. I never could 
have imagined that widow’s weeds could be so becoming. I declare I think slie never 
looked handsomer ; but here the thread of her meditations was severed by the 
announcement of Captain Dettield. 

Ten minutes’ desultory conversation, and then IVIrs. Paynter announced that she 
would wait no longer for Mr. Gore. With a theatrical engagement afterwards it 
would be absurd, she said, to say nothing of having had no answer from him. 

“ Who’s the widow ? ” asked Charlie Detffeld, as they ascended to the dining-room. 

“Didn’t I tell you, sir, I had something to show you, and isn’t she worth looking 
at ? You’re only to admire, you know, not worship. A'ou’ve quite enough to do in 
that way at present, recollect.” 

“ Is it likely that 1 should forget ? Is it likely that I should admire any other 
woman in 3'our presence ? ” whispered the guardsman, sentimentally. 

:Mrs. Paynter looked at him for a moment, and, as they entered the dining-room, 
retorted : — 

“ Yes; I think you’re quite capable of it.” 

Charlie Detfield laughed ; that scapegrace guardsman could take veiy ffiir care of 
himself, lie was always engaged in a desperate flirtation with some woman or other ; 
perhaps rather harder hit than usual just now; but the pair were not badly matclied, 
though Lizzie Paynter was a cleverer practitioner in the art of philandering than any 
he had as yet encountered. 

“ I am going to carry you off to the Gayety Theatre, Cissy, as soon as diimnr is 
over. You won’t mind, will you ? ” 

“ No ; 1 shall be only too glad. I find my own rooms so dreadfully lonely in the 


Mrs. Paynter at Home. 


29 


evening. It is a great change, you know, from my old life. I suppose it is very 
stupid of me, but I have been so used to seeing lots of people that I can’t help feeling 
it. I don’t get on well by myself, Lizzie. Shocking, isn’t, it, Mr. Paynter, that a 
woman should have to acknowledge herself so destitute of resources ? ” 

“ Well, of course, it must come hard upon you at first, Mrs. Ilemsworth,” returned 
her host; “you will soon get used to it.” 

“ Not she, you dear, stupid old John,” thought Mrs. Paynter. “Don’t seem to try, 
cither.” 

“ I am afraid not,” rejoined Cissy, quietly. “ I have had people to amuse me all 
my life. I make a very bad hand of amusing myself.” 

“ Don’t think so badly of London as all that, Mrs. Ilemsworth ” (he had got the 
name now), interposed the guardsman, laughing. “ There are plenty of us will only 
be too happy to try pur utmost in that respect. Only wait till you know us, and you 
will have no cause to complain.” 

Cissy smiled, and a very sweet smile it was. She was one of those women who do 
great execution in silence. 

“Pcally, Captain Detficld, I must protest,” cried Mrs. Paynter, laughing. “I 
know the chivalry of }^our nature invariably prompts you to succor the afflicted ; but, 
sir, your sole mission has been to amuse me, of late,” and, continued Lizzie, with a 
little moue., “ I can hardly give you a character for being successful.” 

“ I suppose not ; anxiety to succeed always mars our most strenuous efforts. The 
more we try, the more we don’t do it. Whenever we are very keen to win, we always 
lose ; — moral, nil admirari ; — but then, Mrs. Paynter, you should not make such a 
point of always upsetting it.” 

“Very pretty ; how often, pray, have you said that to us before ? But it’s time to 
start. You will come with us, John ? ” 

“Yes, of course,” returned Mr. Paynter, recognizing and responding to the 
matrimonial signal ; “ I’ll ring for the carriage at once.” 

“Ah ! that’s good of you. We really, Cissy, could hardly trust Captain Dctfield to 
entertain the two of us between the acts.” 

“ I am sure Captain Dctfield Avould take excellent care of us,” replied Mrs. Ilems- 
worth, “ but I don’t think we could do without Mr. Paynter, also. Y’'ou will be sure 
to enjoy it.” 

Very considerable misgivings on that point had good-humored John Paynter, but 
he was loyal as an Arab to the laws of bread and salt, and little likely to let Cissy 
Ilemsworth want a cavalier, even had he not received his .wife’s hint. 

Half an hour more, and they were all at the Gayety, listening to the pretty music, 
and laughing at the fun of the Princess of Trebizonde. 

Mrs. Paynter was carrying on an apparently deeply interesting conversation with 
C’ ’pDetfield; Cissy gazing, with a smile on her face, at the business of the stage, 
while John Paynter, at the back of the box, was alternately pinching himself to keep 


30 


Two Kisses. 


awake, and stifling a most inordinate craving for tobacco, when the door of the box 
quietly opened, and jNlontague Gore, stepping in, greeted his hostess that should have 
been, and apologized for not having joined her party sooner, on the grounds that he 
did not receive her note till too late to allow of his doing so. 

Mrs. Payiiter received ’#s excuses graciously, and then said, “ Cissy, let me intro- 
duce you to Mr. Gore.” 

“ Mr. Gore and I arc old friends, if he will allow me to call him so,” replied Cissy, 
as she extended her hand. “If it had not been for his unwearied kindness a short 
time back, I don’t know what would have become of me.” 

“ Good gracious ! Mrs. Ilemsworth ! ” exclaimed the barrister. “ 1 little dreamt of 
meeting you to-night.” 

“ Here, take my plaee. Gore,” murmured John Paynter. “ It’s just charity, for I’m 
froze for a cigar ; ” and, vacating his seat, he slipped out of the box. 

“ And he was your barrister, was he. Cissy ? ” thought Mrs. Paynter, smiling. 
“ Ah ! my dear, it’s a great relief to me to have come to the * him ’ at last. Now, 
unless you have that mysterious other that I have always dimly suspected in the far 
background, you two would suit admirably. You should reward the knight that 
reseued beauty in her difliculties with your fair, but penniless hand. Those dragons 
of the early ages, I suspect, were only metaphorical representations of the relentless 
creditors of the nineteenth century.” 

“ Tell me. Captain Detfield, don’t you think the ogre of our childhood typical of the 
money-lender, the hydra of the ancients, their mythical idea of compound interest ? 
I have heard it said you should be a judge of such things.” 

Charlie started ; there was a bitterness in his companion’s tones, such as he had 
never heard before. Again, although his pecuniary diflicullies were no secret among 
his intimates, yet he was immensely surprised to hear them thus hinted at by Mrs. 
Paynter. There are troubles men do not confide to the women they love, unless they 
are their wives. iMoney troubles are of this nature. 

“ I don’t know,” he said, after a slight pause, “ who has been good enough to tell 
you that I am to some extent involved. If it was a man, he’s a fool, and a mischievous 
one ; but I Avon’t pretend to you that it is not the case. Yes, Mrs. Paynter, compound 
interest is very like consumption : a complaint that a man don’t often get the better of.” 

“ Poor Charlie ; I’m so sorry to hear that it is true,” murmured the lady, softly. 

“ It’s well worth being in the toils to hear you say so,” he rejoined, in a low whisper. 

“Hush ! I want to hear this,” replied Lizzie ; and, having flashed a quick, responsive 
glance up into his face, she turned towards the stage. 

“ And so you are in London, INIrs. Ilemsworth ; for how long ? ” inquired Gore. 

“ I don’t know,” returned Cissy. “ I never did know, you remember, anything 
about my own affairs. But I am settled in Hanover street for some little time now, 
where,” she continued, looking gravely up at him, “ if you will come and see me, I 
will try to thank you properly for all you have done for me. A very modest estab- 


Mrs. Paynter at Home. 


31 


lishment indeed. You understand, none better, that I can afford no other now, — only 
lodgings. It is a change after being used to a big house of one’s own,” she con- 
cluded, plaintively. 

“You know, Mrs. Ilemsworth, nobody could be more sincerely sorry for you than 
myself.” 

“ I know,” replied Cissy, “ that no one took half the pains to assist me that you did. 
There were many old friends who professed much sorrow for the tribulation I was in, 
but the only person who came to my succor was a comparative stranger, — yourself. I 
am never likely to forget that.” 

“ You give me more credit than I deserve,” replied Gore, quietly. “ I happened to 
be a man of business. Your friends probably were not.” 

“ Oh, yes, plenty of them were. I think, you know,” she continued, slowly, “ that 
they thought I was not worth helping, — that I should never entertain them again. 
What did it matter what became of me ? I know I am not clever ; but I fancy society 
don’t care about you when you are in trouble.” 

“ We won’t discuss that, Mrs. Hemsworth ; but I did want to know where you were.” 

Cissy raised her eyes and looked at him. 

“ Yes,” he continued, rapidly, “ I have got a clue ; it is a mere thread as yet, and I 
don’t know what may come of it. I have an idea ; a wild idea, perhaps I had better 
call it, — but still an idea that there is some property belonging to you in this country. 
I can’t say how much. I can’t guess as yet how much, — big or little, I can’t say, — 
but still something. I shall work it out though, 'if you will give me authority to do 
so. It was that I wanted from you. You can trust me, can you not ? ” 

Cissy extended her hand ; and, as he clasped it, replied : — 

“ Thoroughly. Come and see me, and you shall have full credentials.” 

“It’s just over,” exclaimed Mrs. Paynter. “Let us get away before the crush 
comes. Would you go and look for the carriage. Captain Detfield, please ? And 
John, he’s betaken himself to a cigar, I know.” 

But, at this moment, Mr. Paynter re-entered the box, and announced that he had 
already accomplished that errand. 

“ Then the sooner we depart the better,” exclaimed Mrs. Paynter, as she took the 
guardsman’s arm. “We will put you down. Cissy, on our way.” 

“ Good-night, Mr. Gore, and don’t forget your promise,” said Cissy, once more 
extending her little hand, as she stepped into the brougham. 

Montague Gore stood for a moment looking after the receding carnage, but his 
meditations were speedily interrupted by Charlie Detfield, who, having lit a cigar, 
suggested they should adjourn to the “ Aluminium ” for a quiet smoke. 


32 


Two Kisses. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE major’s business. 

/ 

IklAJOR Claxby Jenkens had offices in John street, Aclelphi, though what business 
it was that the major carried on in those two dingy, barely-furnished rooms, was still 
a mystery to those who had puzzled their brains concerning it. The major’s business 
hours were not of long duration. He arrived every morning at twelve punctually, 
and left between three and four. Ilis clients, though not numerous, were usually 
young, and well-dressed, and although, as may be supposed, principally of the male 
sex, were not so altogether. Trailing robes of silk and satin had swept those stairs 
ere this, in their anxiety to persuade the major to do his duty towards his neighbor. 

Claxby Jenkens was a tolerably well-known man upon town, and yet nobody ever 
felt very sure that they knew anything about Claxby Jenkens. He was of somewhat 
doubtful status in society. He belonged to two or three tolerable clubs, but nobody 
could tell you anything about his early career. He called himself la,te of the Indian 
army ; but it was curious that no old Indian officer ever could remember mcetirig him. 
Colonel Prawn, late of the Bombay Fusileers, whom the major had offended past for- 
giveness by selling him one evening at pool, declared : — 

“ By G — d, sir ! the d fellow never was in the seiwice at all ! ” 

General Ilamriee, whom the major had handled rather severely at icarU^ stated as 
his opinion : — 

“ Jenkens — yes, sir — oh yes, he was in the service ; but he’s a long-headed fellow, 
Jenkens, — he found he wasn’t getting on, so he left ; and as the Horse Guards had 
neglected to promote him. Gad, sir! he didn’t bother them, but just gazetted himself. 
Indian service, — no, no, that won’t do. Why, Prawn there will tell you that he doesn’t 
know the difference between a bungalow and Bangalore.” 

Still, when the major took a turn in the park of an afternoon (he was seldom seen 
there in the morning) , there were plenty of men, well known in the fashionable world, 
who nodded to him, and occasionally a lady bowed. He was not a man that you 
would expect to find at balls, routs, the opera, etc., but he turned up at mixed dinner- 
parties sometimes. On these occasions he usually contented himself with a double 
gold-rimmed eyeglass, in lieu of spectacles, and seemed to be perfectly able to get 
along with that. 

The major’s clients rarely alluded to their connection with him. They made no 
pretence of knowing what his business was. If you had asked them, they would 
probably have answered you in this wise : — 

“ Oh, he’s a doosid good fellow, you know, old Claxby Jenkens. What does he dc ? 


The Major's Business. 


33 


Blessed if I know. Whether he deals in flax or fluids, I haven’t an idea. I went to 
him upon quite another matter altogether.” 

Tlie major usually described himself as a general dealer, who bought upon com- 
mission. What did ho buy ? Anything ? Perhaps he might ; still you never came 
across any one who had employed Claxby Jenkens very much in that way. True, 
here and there he had conducted a negotiation for the purchase of a house, a pair of 
carriage-horses, etc. ; yet he hardly did suflicient in that way to warrant his regular 
attendance at his office. But it was whispered among the impecunious of the fashion- 
able world that Major Jenkens was the man of all others who could put you in the 
way of raising money at short notice ; not that he was a money-lender, — nothing 
of the sort. Young men who had gone to him with that idea had often descended 
those dirty stairs in John street quite overwhelmed with the major’s virtuous indigna- 
tion at their hinting such a thing. Neophytes these, who usually came back when 
they had learnt their lesson better. Claxby Jenkens didn’t lend money ; but if you 
were worth, or likely to be worth anything, he could and would introduce 3"ou to 
those who did. 

The major, in short, was simply an agent to some of the leading money-lenders, 
and received a handsome bonus for every introduction he furnished. Living much 
in the world, and an astute man to boot, he kneAv pretty well those who were 1 lively to 
prove profitable to his employers, — those who were not worth wasting powder and 
shot over. The bill-discounters placed immense confidence in him. It was seldom 
that he estimated a borrower at his wrong value. The secret was well kept, and of 
the man^^ who passed through his hands, there were few suspected that he had any 
interest in, or made profit out of, their necessities. To those who came to him properly 
tutored, he was quite fatherly in his advice. 

“ My dear boy,” he would say, “ do without it if you can, — ask your own people for 
it, — anything. When you once pay over five per cent, for mone}", it’s only a matter 
of time. You’re bound to be broke.” 

But of course the major knew they couldn’t do without it, and that they could not 
ask “ their own people ” for it, or they would not have been in John street ; so, finally 
he furnished them with the address of one of his employers, and felt tranquilly that 
he had done his duty towards his neighbor and himself. 

To older and more hardened oftenders the major naturally took a different tone. 

“ Sorry to hear you want it,” he would say, “ but it’s no use preaching. I should 
think you would find Simeon I^evi, in Gray’s inn, as reasonable as any one, and he’d 
most likely accommodate you; but his price is ruinous, of course. They all are. I 
found them so to my cost, years ago ; and I don’t suppose you will fare better than I 
did.” 

The major, too, had other ways of working out his nefarious livelihood. In spite 
of his gentlemanly exterior and courteous address, there was no more unscmpulous 
scoundrel in all London. And yet this man passed as a gentleman in society. Those 


34 


Two Kisses. 


within his power naturally made no protest. The secret of his inner life "was well 
kejpt, and though the Colonel Prawns and General llamrices of this world might 
murmur against him, and speak dubiously of his military career, yet he held his own 
bravely. Little did those gentlemen think how very much even their estimate of 
Major Claxby Jenlvcns was above the reality. 

It is always curious to reflect upon in club life how utterly ignorant we arc of the 
real history of those with whom we associate. The man whom you chat with, dine 
with, smoke with, and who generally forestalls you in the rush for the evening 
papers, may be miserably impecunious, and living in an adjoining garret, or he may 
be revelling in a luxurious house and table, with forgery as a profession. We do 
have an explosion every nowand then, which floods the journals; but there are a 
good many surprises, the story of which is only whispered with bated breath in those 
conventual establishments. 

The major is sitting at his desk \vrapped in a brown study. A pile of letters lies 
beside him, for his correspondence is usually both voluminous and varied. One is 
spread opened before him, and it is that, apparently, which has plunged him into such 
deep reverie. 

“ Dear Jenks,” — it ran, — “ have been away to St. Petersburg on a private errand 
the last four months — only got back here the night before last. The news is probably 
stale to you ; but as you asked me always to let you know anything about the Ileiiis- 
worths, at the risk of repetition I send it. I suppose you know M. II. died three 
months ago or more. I always told you he over-speculated. I was right ; he did, 
and his widow is left pcanilcss. What you may not know, is that she suddenly left 
Paris, and has gone nobody knows where. What do you think of Peruvians your 
side of the channel ? and what, you old fox, would you discount the Prince Imperial’s 
prospects at ? He’ll be worth backing before the Septennate is out. Thiers will 
hardly witness that, though some people vow it wont require to live very long to sec 
the finish of it. Pouher will be the best man when the scramble comes, and that, of 
course, means the empire again. Bien / we financiers never made money as quick as 
under Louis Napoleon, so I say Vive V Empereur / As for the Orlcanists, they com- 
mitted political suicide when they made up a quarrel of forty odd years standing 
with the elder branch. How Monsieur Ic Comte de Chambord could ever have been 
consi ■’ered a political fact puzzles extremely, 

** Yours sincerely, 

“Adolphe Katner. 

» Paris, October 5, 1874.” 

The major twisted and twirled this epistle between his restless fingers. It so hap- 
pened the intelligence of Mark Ilemsworth’s death was news to him. It had never 
been copied into the English papers. Why should it ? Mark Ilemsworth, though an 


The Major's Business. 


35 


Englishman by birth, had been long resident in Paris. If he had relatives in his own 
country, he had utterly ceased to hold any communication with them. He had been 
of the Bourse of Paris for many years, so thoroughly identified with the French 
Stock Exchange that his nationality would hardly occur to the journalists. At all 
events, his decease had occasioned no comment in the English papers. There had 
been no scandal connected with his death, — nothing to make it worth the notice of the 
correspondents of the “ Times,” Telegraph,” “ Standard,” etc., to call attention to. 
No wonder the major, like Mrs. Paynter, had never heard of it; and yet Claxby 
Jenkens had an interest in knowing how it fared with Mark Hemsworth and his 
wife. 

“ Poor child ! ” he murmured, I wonder where she is. I did it for the best, and 
yet she must want help now ; ” and this battered, hardened old marauder dropped his 
head upon his hands, and, if he did not actually weep, exhibited signs of genuine 
emotion, such as would have shaken the confidence of his employers sadly. Indul- 
gence in emotion is quite incompatible with the profession of money-lending. 

“ She must be found,” he muttered, at length. “ I will write to Bayner. If she is 
still in Paris, and she may be, he won’t be long before he knows where. The police 
there keep a more stringent eye on people’s movements than we do, and Madame 
Hemsworth was too well known to disappear easily. If she has left — well, even 
then they may have a clue as to where she left for. Penniless ? I am not so sure of 
that. I think not, if I could but find her. There’s another man, too, I shall have to 
hunt up about this business ; but he ought not to be difficult to put my hand on. 
Well, now for the rest of them,” he continued, turning towards his letters once more. 
“ Hum ! ‘ Will call in at twelve. Yours truyl, Charlie 'Detfield.’ But Detfield must 
know that he has got to the end of his tether, and that the money-lenders will have 
no more of him. Of course he seeks to prolong the agony — they all do, just as a 
man who can’t swim struggles when drowning is inevitable. What’s this ? ” 

“ Dear Jenkens : — I’ve a young lady to dispose of, good looking, and with a tidy 
bit of money, say thirty thousand pounds or so. She has just made her courtesy to 
society. Her lamented father made his fortune in cheese, and she is living with two 
maiden aunts at Islington. As her guardian, I think the sooner she is married the 
better. With a little coaching, she would be quite presentable at the West in no time, 
for she’s a quick, clever girl. If you’ve an impoverished swell on hand, we might 
make up an eligible match. She finds the money ; he position. Drop me a line. 

‘‘ Yours, 

“ Jaaies Boxbt. 

“ 16 Fenchurch street.” 


“ Now,” mused the major, “ if ever two letters fitted in beautifully, it’s these. If 
Charlie Detfield, when he comes here, is not prepared to take up the bills lie has out, 


36 


Two Kisses. 


instead of wishing to do others, I shall put this strenuously before him. AVhy, it’s 
the veiy thing for him, and in his own interest as well as mine ; I shall give Simmonds 
a hint to put on the screw if he pleases. It’d put him straight, put her into society 
and put something very comfortable into lloxby’s pocket, and mine, no doubt. 
Under such circumstances, we can’t have any nonsense about feelings, etc., and if he 
has any other attachment, unless it’s a very satisfactory one, well, he must just 
swallow it at once, and have done with it. He’s too deeply dipped to indulge in 
sentiment. Matrimony with him must mean money, and the latter he must come by 
pretty quickly, llis prospects of marriage won’t improve by having to leave the 
Guards.” 

Suddenly his clerk glided into the room with Gentlemen to see you, sir,” and 
placed in his hand the card of the subject of his meditations. 

“ Show him in,” replied the major, throwing himself back in his chair, and 
beginning rapidly to run over in his mind the arguments he intended urging. 

“Uow are you, Jenkens?” said the guardsman, as he entered the room, with a 
nonchalance sadly suggestive of its being neither his first visit, nor the doing of his 
first bill. 

“ Good-morning, Captain Dctfield; charmed to sec you. You’ve come, I suppose, 
about those horses of Packonham’s ; there’s one would suit you wcU, perfect hack, 
and can jump a bit besides.” 

The major kept up the fiction of being a general commission agent, with wonderful 
pertinacity, and unless you humored him in this particular you were little likely to 
get anything else out of him. 

But Detfield understood this thoroughly, and replied as if the acquirement of that 
identical hack was the sole thing wanting to complete his happiness. 

“ Just what I wanted to talk to you about; only two questions. Is it sound in its 
wind ? "Would he look at a hundred guineas ? ” 

“ Sound as a bell, I believe ; but I think he’d want a trifle more than that.” 

“ 1 was afraid so ; it’s beyond my figure, then, for the times are hard, and, in my 
profession, we can’t indulge in the luxury of strikes, although the pay of the British 
officer has remained stationary for hard on to a century, and the agricultural laborers’ 
grievances are nothing to ours.” 

“ Never mind — it is sufficient that I know you \vant a hack; there are plenty more 
liorses than Packenham’s. I undertake to find you a hack before the month is out, 
that shall suit in every respect ; including price.” 

“Thanks; and now by the way, Jenkens, do you think Simmonds would be good 
for another three hundred ? I must have it, and it’s better not to break fresh ground 
if one can help it.” 

The major put on his spectacles with great deliberation, and then commenced 
stabbing his desk slowly with a small penknife. 


The Major's Business, ^ 37 

“ Excuse me, Captain Detfield,” he said at length, “but what do you suppose will 
be the end of this ? ” ♦ 

The young man’s face flushed, and he drew his breath hard before he replied ; — 

“ What’s to be the end of it, major ? Well, unless I’ve a turn at Newmarket, I 
suppose a pretty general smash will be the end of it. I shall have to realize the 
commission, and leave the dear old corps.” 

“ Well, why don’t you pull up ? ” inquired the major, as innocently as if in ignorance 
of the “ why.” 

“ Pooh ! you know all about it. I’m going down hill with no skid on, and there’s 
no stopping the coach then till you get to the bottom.” 

“ But if a way was pointed out to you of escaping all this,” observed the major, 
impaling a small wafer-box with his penknife. 

“ I’d say I’d come across a conjuror,” interposed Charlie Detfield, quickly. 

“Well, I don’t claim to be that,” replied the major, smiling. “But did it never 
occur to you to mend your fortunes by matrimony ? Why don’t you marry ? ” 

“ What, a pot of money ? ” said Charlie, after a short pause. “ No, I don’t think 
that would do,” he continued slovvdy, as his thoughts reverted to the object of his 
present infatuation. 

“ Why shouldn’t it ? A man in your position has lots of opportunities.” 

“ You mistake there. If you mean that I know plenty of girls with money, you 
arc right ; but if you think the authorities would allow them to marry a penniless 
devil like myself, you’re pretty considerably out. I can’t say I ever thought about it. 
It never occurred to me to get out of the wood in that way ; but I do know that it’s 
none so easy, even if I cared to try.” 

“But,” retorted the major, “ supposing I could introduce you*to a nice girl, with a 
very pretty fortune ; would you try then ? ” 

“ Hum ! I can’t say,” answered Charlie, slowdy. “ I don’t quite like the idea. It’s 
rather mean, marrying a girl for her money.” 

“ It’s done every day, and you would give something on your side to balance it, — 
position.” , 

“ She’s easily contented, if she thinks, being wife to a subaltern in the Guards 
position,” laughed Charlie. 

“But it would be to her,” exclaimed the major, quickly. “ Your connections are 
good ; your people of good status in society.” 

- “ Rather sounds as if she and her belongings were very much the reverse,” observed 

Detfield, dryly. 

“Just so; you don’t expect to get everything for nothing. If her people made 
their money in trade, what has that to do with it ? Everybody is going in for trade 
nowadays, or business, as they prefer to term it. Same thing, only it sounds better 
in conversation. What do you say to it ? ” 


38 


Tzvo Kisses. 


“ I don’t know. Of course, I couldn’t say anything till I had seen the young lady, 
at all events. But on the whole, I think, I’d rather not have anything to do with it.” 

The major said nothing, but continued lazily to stab his desk with his penknife, 
though ever and anon he shot a keen glance at Detfield from under his spectacles. 

“ Well, do you think I. had better try Simmonds again, or not ? ” inquired Charlie, 
after a pause of some seconds. 

“ Certainly, try him ; but unless you can point to some forthcoming improvement in 
your prospeets, I think he’s likely to turn rusty — ” 

“ And unaccommodating, eh Well, it will be a bore that, because I must have 
the money somehow.” 

“ Why not think over what I’ve been saying to you ? ” 

Because I don’t fancy it a bit. No ; if I’m to go a mucker, as I suppose I am. 
I’ll not get out of it that way,” said Charlie, rising. “ Good-by ; ” and having shook 
hands with the major, Detfield took his departure. 

Claxby Jenkens stabbed his desk somewhat viciously, as the door closed on his 
visitor. 

Young idiot ! ” he muttered. “ Salvation is offered him, and he literally turns up 
his nose at it. I suppose there’s a woman in the case. I must find out who she is for 
one thing, and recommend Simmonds to be tolerably hard on him, for another. 
When he finds the screw put on, he’ll be more amenable to reason. The idea of the 
young fool not actually jumping at such a chance as I placed before him ! Well, I 
suppose at five-and-twenty we haven’t as yet learned what is best for us. But I’m 
going to be a good friend to you, Charlie Detfield, whether you will or no, and for 
the best of all possible reasons, that my interest requires me to be so.” 




CHAPTER VII. 

HE MUST MARRY MONEY. 

“ I REAELY ean’t make up my mind about her,” mused Mrs. Paynter, as she sat 
dawdling over her tea and toast, a few days after her visit to the Gayety Theatre. 
“ John says she’s charming, and took the earliest opportunity of going off for a cigar; 
but then John always does that. It was odd that Montague Gore should turn out to 
be the man who came to her assistance in Paris. Well, that’s a great point in her 
favor. She’s intimate with him to start with. I thought it might do before ; I am 
sure it would now. And how beautifully she carried it off last night ! How inno- 
cently she asked him to come and see her! Upon my word, I don’t know at this 
minute whether she’s the deepest woman I ever met, or next door to a fool. She 
speaks with a confidence about her future that can only be the result of intense reliance 


He Must Marry Money. 


39 


on her own capabilities, or utter ignorance of the world. Surely she’s lived too much in 
it to be the latter. Yet there are few women, who, brought up in luxury, on finding them- 
selves thrown pretty well friendless upon their own resources — for what is a thousand 
pounds? — who wouldn’t blench at the prospect. And yet she does not. Poor 
Charlie, too ; if all I bear’s true, his circumstances are getting desperate. I don’t 
quite care about him to the extent he thinks, but I’m fond of him in my way, and am 
very sorry to dl'r'cover that he’s in the hands of the Philistines. Oh, dear ! I don’t 
know how it is, but it’s one’s pleasantest acquaintance that come to grief ahvays. 
Bah ! ” she exclaimed, with a little grimace, “ there are a good many people I know, 
who I’d insure from trouble on those very grounds.” 

At that instant a servant entered the room, and, presenting a visiting card on a 
salver, said : — 

“ The gentleman begs to know if you can see him, madam, for a few minutes.” 

“ ‘Major Claxby Jenkens.’ I never heard of him in mj^ life. Never mind; show 
him up, William.” 

The major was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet when he had once 
decided upon anything. He had determined that Charlie Detfield should marry this 
Islington heiress, and at once set to work to see how it was to be brought about. It 
was not difficult for a man like the major to find out, in the course of a couple of 
days, a good deal about Detfield’s life and habits. lie was not long before he heard 
that Charlie was at present epris with that pretty INIrs. Paynter, over whom society 
was habituated to sigh and shake its head a good deal. The major knew Mrs. Paynter 
perfectly by sight, though he had never taken anj’- very great notice of her so far ; 
but the major knew a wonderful lot of people in this fashion, and could have written 
slight biographical sketches of many of them besides. 

It does not follow that he had any wish to make their acquaintance ; still he did 
quite consider it part of his business to know everybody about town by sight, and to 
know as much more about them as he could manage to pick up. He thought he could 
form a pretty correct estimate of Mrs. Paynter, and he conceived the bold design of 
enlisting her as an ally in his scheme. At all events, he resolved to call upon her; 
how far he should take her into his confidence, circumstances must decide. 

Lizzie gazed a little curiously at her visitor, as she motioned him to a seat, — 
a neatly-dressed, gentlemanly-looking man, hair somewhat shot with gray, and 
wearing gold-rimmed spectacles. 

' “ Mrs. Paynter will, I trust, excuse the liberty I have taken, but I have come to 
solicit her influence in a scheme that I have strongly at heart.” 

The major paused to give Lizzie an opportunity of reply. 

“ Let her say anything,” he thought; “ it will pave the way, at all events, and give 
me some notion if I am right in my ideas about her.” 

But ]Mrs. Paynter only bowed her head slightly, in a manner which distinctly 
indicated that he should proceed. 


40 


Two Kisses. 


“lam g-iren to understand that Captain Detfield is a friend of yours,” observed 
the major, at length. “ May 1 go so far as to say, an intimate friend of yours ? ” 

Though much astonished, Lizzie had lived too much in the world not to be able to 
repress any sign of such astonishment. She replied, quietly : — 

“ Yes, I know Captain Detlield very well; intimately, if you like.” 

“ May I ask if jmu are aware that his atfairs are extremely involved ? ” 

“ I have heard something of the kind, but jmu can scarcely suppose Captain Det- 
field would make me his confidante in matters of that sort,” retorted Idzzie, a little 
sharply. 

“ Xo, perhaps not. I am also told that you have considerable influence with Cap- 
tain Detfield.” 

“ Whoever your informant may be, sir, it strikes me that he has been taking most 
unwarrantable liberties with my name,” exclaimed Lizzie, indignantly. “I know 
Captain Detfield, as I know many other people in society, very well. But I have 
nothing to do with Captain Detfield’s affairs, and I am sure he would be the first 
person to tell you so.” 

“ Captain Detfield is very foolish as regards his own interests, and will not listen to 
the advice of his friends,” said the major, slowly. 

“ Really, I can see no use in this discussion. I have nothing to say to Captain 
Dctficld’s private affairs. I have neither right nor inclination to interfere in them,” 
replied Lizzie, settling herself with considerable demonstration in her chair. 

The major quietly took the hint and rose ; he had not expected that it would be all 
easy sailing at this first interview. 

“ I can only apologize for this intrusion,” he said. “ Y'ou speak, Mrs. Paynter, as 
the friends of a man in diflicultics generally do speak. They are always very punc- 
tilious about their right to interfere.” 

The blood rushed into Lizzie’s face at the taunt, and her eyes sparkled. Coquette 
slie might be, she was not the woman to turn away from a friend in need. 

“ Stop, sir ! Are you aware that I am neither relation nor connection of Captain 
Detfield ? ” 

“ Perfectly,” returned the major. 

“ And you ! May I ask if you are a friend of his ? ” 

“ The most practical one he happens to have just now, though perhaps he would not 
admit it.” 

“ And what on earth is it you suppose that I could do to assist him ? ” 

“ You could give what he needs much just now, — good advice,” replied the major, as 
he resumed his seat. “ lie might listen to you, although he won’t to me.” 

“ This is getting interesting,” thought Lizzie. “ I don’t think I ever set up in this 
line before. Giving good advice to an admirer is quite a new sensation.” 

“ And what, pray, may I ask is it that you want me to recommend to him ? ” 

“ To marry,” returned the major, tersely. 


On the Verge. 


41 


‘‘Good gracious, whom?” exclaimed Mrs. Paynter, fairly surprised out of her 
usual sang-froid. “ Who is she ? Whom do you want him to marry ? ” 

“ That, madam, I shall have the honor to explain to you a little later, if you will allow 
me. At present, I only wish you to, if possible, persuade Captain Detficld that the’ 
only way out of his present dilliculties, the only way to avert the ruin that so speedily 
threatens him, is to marry money. It will be my business to find him a bride.” 

“ I won’t move a step in the business till I know who she is. I won’t say a word on 
the subject till I have seen the lady,” retorted Mrs. Paynter, quickly. “ I never 
thought of it before, but I dare say I could find a wife for him easily enough.” 

“ If Mrs. Paynter will undertake the mission of finding a wife for Captain Detfield 
with thirty thousand pounds, then I need trouble myself no further,” said the major, 
rising. 

“ Xo, I don’t know, I don’t altogether say that. I won’t promise to do anything.” 

“ But you will think over what I have said, Mrs. Paynter. llemember, I only wish 
to pull Detfield through his difiiculties, and I see nothing for him but to marry money ^ 
and that right soon. If you can manage this for him, well and good. If not, would 
it be too much to ask you to let me know ? You have my card and address.” 

“ I will think over it, and you shall hear from me when I’ve made up my mind,” 
replied Lizzie. 

“ I have the honor, tjjen, to wish you good-morning, and success in your charitable 
endeavors,” replied the lattei’j as, with a low reverence, he left the room. 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Paynter, throAving herself back in a chair, “this really is quite a new 
experience. The idea of looking out a wife for one of one’s OAvn peculiar properties. 
If anybody but that cool, clever, audacious gentleman, Avho has just left, had proposed 
such a thing to me, I don’t think he Avould have forgot it in a hurry. I wonder 
how he came to knoAV about my intimacy Avitli Charlie. Not that there’s anything I 
need fret about 'in that, but he eAudently docs know Charlie is a favored adorer. Now, 
as he is not in the least in my set, how did he come by that knoAvledge ? I feel just a 
little afraid of a man Avho possesses so much information about one. Who is he, — this 
Major Claxby Jenkens ? I must ask Charlie that, and I wonder Avhat he will say when 



CHAPTER YIII. 

ON THE VERGE. 

Montague Gore has paid more than one visit to Hanover street since he encoun- 
tered Cissy Hemsworth at the “ Gayety.” A cool, shrewd barrister, and generally 
immersed in business, he is little given to sentiment, and yet be begins to find a 
strange fascination in Cissy’s society. She is always unfeignedly glad to see him. 
She makes no secret, that in spite of Mrs. Paynter’s kindness, — and she admits that it 


42 


Tzvo Kisses. 


is impossible to be kinder than Lizzie is to her, — she finds London a little triste. Much 
occupied as his time is, he contrives to spare some of it to the following np of a sus- 
picion that occurred to him in Paris. lie believes that Cissy llcmsworth had a settle- 
ment at the time of her marriage, although he has found no trace of such a deed, 
htill, among the dead man’s papers he had come across a mysterious memorandum, 
that if he had read it aright seemed to hint at such a thing. In a sort of pocket diary, 
in \Nnioh Mark llemsworth had apparently been accustomed to roughly jot down his 
day’s business doings, he had found the following entry ; — 

“January 28th. — Ileceived per bill on Coutts, £57G, half-yearly payment on C.’s 
settlciuerit.” 

^'crv vague, indeed, this. C.’s settlement might, of course, mean anything, but 
coupled with the term half-yearly' payunent. Gore had jumped to the conclusion that it 
did refer to a sctllenient made on Mrs. llemsworth at her marriage. Still, if so, where 
was the property' ? Who were her trustees ? lie could not lind a trace of either. 
Carefully and patiently as he had unravelled the tangled skein of Mark Ilcmsworth’s 
affairs, he could discover not another word that could possibly' refer to this property. 
And y'ct it must be worth close upon twelve hundred a y'car, if it existed. 

Had !Mark llemsworth made away with it? — the trustees consenting rather from 
ignorance, or in collusion with him. That was possible, quite possible ; but still not to 
be taken for granted till the said trustees had been discovered. Of course, it was but too 
likely that llemsworth, so terribly involved as his death showed him to have been, 
should have laid hands upon the money’' if he could. But except through fraud, or 
very’- great negligence on the part of the trustees, a marriage settlement holds its own 
pretty' tightly. Gore Avas pushing his inquiries in every direction, but so far had met 
with no success. 

Of course he had gone to Coutts’ in the first instance. Little difficulty' there in 
tracing the bill, but unfortunately' that told nothing. The bill had been drawn by' a 
sporting stockbroker, but for £7)00, had ])een presented by' a gentleman, who, paying 
in the balance of £70 in cash, had asked the favor of another for £7)70 to transmit to 
llemsworth ct Cie., Paris. The stockbroker was a regular customer of theirs; but 
about the gentleman that changed the bill they knew nothing. The stockbroker, 
upon being interi’Ogated, refused to give any information in the first instance; but, at 
last admitted that he paid it away to a Avell-known tui-fltc in settlement of his losses 
over the Croy'don steeple-chase. There all traces vanished, when the aforesaid specu- 
lator was appealed to ; he could recollect nothing. He was alwavs paying and 
receiving money'. Yes; he betted pretty' largely', and a betting-book didn’t last him 
long. Xo, he didn’t keep his old betting-books, unless he had some special reason for 
doing so. He hadn’t got that one iioav. He remembered he Avon some money' from 
]\Ir. Jay', the stockbroker, at Croy'don, but he couldn’t say hoAV much. He thought 
he was paid by a check. Well, yes; it might have been on (Joutts. AVhat did he do 
Avitli it ? Paid it away', and he’d be considerably' dashed if he could recollect to Avhom. 


On the Verge. 


43 


Somewhat discouraging, this ; but Montague Gore knew as well as any one the 
patience and perseverance imperative to the solving of a problem of this nature, — 
how, when the clue seems within your hands, it often leads to nothing. A man of 
tough material, of dogged, invincible resolution, who had made himself, who had 
started in his profession with small means, but great energy and capacity of work; 
clever, certainly, but who owed his success more to toil than genius; possessed 
specially of the faculty of always finding time to do what he wanted, — a faculty which 
is the result principally of method and determination. 

He was a man who mixed but sparingly in society. A terrible catastrophe, in early 
life, had steeled his heart against the love of woman. Over the writing-table in his 
chambers hung the picture of a fair girl w'hom Montague Gore, some dozen years 
ago, had thought to make his bride. A light muslin dress and a treacherous fire had 
shivered that dream. A few hours’ agony, and the original of that picture had yielded 
her soul to her Maker, and left her betrothed with the life crushed out of him to con- 
tinue his struggle for fame and fortune alone. Gore stifled his sorrow by hard work ; 
as the years rolled by, the first fierce anguish mellowed down naturally to tranquil 
resignation ; but no -woman had seemed fair to Montague Gore since that terrible day 
when a telegram had summoned him only just in time to receive his love’s last sigh. 
The hapless victim of this tragedy had been Fox Brine’s sister. 

How, once again, he was beginning to feel the fascinations of a woman. lie could 
not deny to himself that Cissy Ilemsworth’s society had unwonted attraction in it. 
lie had not at all made up his mind what was to come of it. lie was of an age now 
when men take a wife with due consideration, or are, at all events, supposed to do so. 
Charming as he thought Cissy, yet he was not 'blind to one thing, — that was her ex- 
travagance. lie knew, of course, perfectly, that she had but a few hundreds left, and 
yet Cissy lived as if she had no care for the future. Her cool indifference to that 
future staggered him. lie had once hinted that the apartments she occupied were 
expensive, more than her means justified. 

Ah, yes,” replied Cissy, living is terribly expensive in London. My poor rooms 
do cost more than I can afford ; but what would you have ? I must live somewhere. 
I don’t think I could get anything decent for less than I pay here, and the people are 
very civil. I do not understand the economies.” 

And she, — how did she regard him ? — he wondered. She made no disguise of how 
pleased she was to see him. She was frankness itself- on that point, but then it Avas 
qualified by the admission that she had so few friends, and felt so utterly lost in this 
big London. 

“ Then, you knoAV,” she would say, Avith the SAveetest smile, “you are my advocate, 
and it is such a comfort to have'somc one to talk over my miserable prospects Avith.” 

And yet she Avas as radiant over these “ miserable prospects,” as if her chance of 
being absolutely penniless in little more than a twelvemonth Avas a fact that had no 
existence. 


44 


Tivo Kisses. 


To understand Cissy Ilemswortli it is necessary to look baek upon her former life. 
It bad been instilled into her, from a child, that she must look upon a good marriage 
as her provision in life. At sixteen she was introduced to Mark Ilemswortli as her 
future husband. She had been for the half-dozen preceding years educated in a con- 
vent in France, so that there was nothing repugnant to her in the idea. Her school- 
fellows were all brought up with similar notions. When her father announced to 
Cissy that her marriage was arranged, she accepted it as a matter of course. She 
felt nothing more than a little natural curiosity to see her Jianc^.. If she was not 
violently struck with his appearance, she certainly felt no distaste for the marriage. 
She supposed all girls were married in this wise. She had never heard it said that 
marriages were made in heaven, or of love and esteem being supposed to enter into 
their composition. 

So she was wedded, and found herself at the head of a fine house in Paris. She 
had nothing to say to it ; her husband managed eveiything. From the day he took 
her, a child-wife, from the altar, to the day of his death, he had treated her as a child, 
lie alternately petted or scolded her, just as his capricious temper might dictate ; 
treating her at times, indeed, almost brutally, when the battle on the Bourse had gone 
hard with him. But she had carriages, servants, and every description of luxury at 
her command. On one point Mark Ilemswortli was consistent ; however ill it might 
fare with him in the financial fray, he never stayed his lavish expenditure. Cissy 
had never heard the word economy even whispered. Her husband was always very 
authoritative concerning her dress. She might spend what she pleased, apparently, 
but it was high misdemeanor that he should see the same robe too often, or find that 
his wife’s was not one of the notable toilettes at a fashionalile assembly. So far as 
this last went, Mark Ilemswortli had little reason to complain. Nature had endowed 
Cissy with great taste, and a superb figure. When to such gifts is added carie 
Blanche at a Parisian modiste’s, a woman is not likely to be worsted by her compeers. 
Madame Ilemsivorth had established a reputation in this respect, and w'as wont to see 
her toilet quoted in the journals. Our own papers after Ascot and Goodwood gen- 
erally rave more or less of millinery, and no wonder. 

One can easily imagine, with such training as this, that Cissy Ilemswortli had no 
more conception of how to commence living economically than a child. She thought 
she was economizing. She was living in lodgings instead of a house of her own. 
She had no servants but her own maid. She had no carriage, and, as she said, never 
sent for a brougham except it was an absolute necessity. Cissy really did not see 
how her expenses were to be much further curtailed. Dress, — well she had spent 
nothing* on that, she insisted. The elaborate mourning outfit she had ordered in Paris 
had so far been suflicient. She was gratified by discovering that her mode was, at all 
events, scai-cely to be met with in London, as yet; but, as she said to INIrs. Payntcr, 
“ It will be terrible next spring, v/lien I go into half mourning, — I shall want such a 
lot of things.” 


On the Verge. 


45 


Cissy had borne neither love nor esteem for her husband. lie had never sought to 
inspire the first, and, far from taking pains to gain the latter, had alienated it by harsh, 
coarse, capricious, brutrd treatment. Mark llemsworth Avas by no means a faithful 
consort, and had taken little trouble to hide his infidelities from his wife. Cissy had 
regarded him with some aversion and some awe. Still, though she feared him, she 
had upon occasion shown a spirit Avhich had, at all events, compelled Mark llemsworth 
to acknowledge that there was a limit to what insult his wife would submit to. 

It is easy to conceive what such training had made of Cissy Ilemsw’orth. She had 
grown up a woman accustomed to adulation, to unlimited luxury, to unstinted means. 
Xow she was called upon to confront the world, and to get her living as best she could. 
Such was the view of her position as it would naturally appear to any one conversant 
of the circumstances. The only person it did not seem to strike was Cissy herself. 
True, it might be said in her favor that she had conducted herself very well under 
considerable provocation; that, with great temptation, no one could breathe an 
aspersion on her fair fame ; that, as a neglected and ill-used wife, she had been ever 
loyal to her husband. Yet this wa3 hardly the woman a prudent man would select foi 
his bride ; and still a shrewd, hard-headed man of the 'Avorld, like Montague Gore, 
■was, at this moment, debating this question wdth himself. 

lie saw it all, too, so clearly. lie knew she was unfitted for his wife, ne^could 
not even flatter himself that he had gained her love. lie was too quick not to under- 
stand that her very frankness with him was an unfavorable sign. lie knew well that 
when a woman’s heart is touched there is a certain reticence, a slight embarrassment 
of manner, at times even an inclination to be almost brusque and rude to the man she 
favors, but has not yet admitted her passion for. lie felt that if she did marry him 
it w'ould be because she was in want of a home, a protector ; and still, in spite of all 
this, Montague Gore continued to visit her constantly, ever turning over in his mind 
whether he should ask her to be his. 

An inlatuation, no doubt ; l.nit when men verging on the forties fall in love they 
usually do so with much earnestness of purpose. Montague Gore had never thought 
to love again. 'VVe do make such mistakes, and feel somewhat puzzled when the 
celibacy we have mapped out for ourselves seems liable to depend once more upon a 
woman’s yes or no. 

Montague Gore, as he w^alks down to Hanover street, is still revolving in his mind 
this question that has so much distiir’.)ed him the last two or three v/eeks. Cissy’s face 
has got mixed up with his business in strange fashion of late. Her lustrous eyes and 
xlusky tresses seem to flit across his briefs in a way most unfavorable to a clear com- 
prehension of their contents. He feels it imperative to see her on business, although 
it would scarcely occur to him that it was necessary to see any other client under the 
same circumstances. He has nothing to impart ; but it has suddenly occurred to him 
that it would be advisable to learn something of Cissy’s childhood if possible. So he 
strides along, through the thick Xovember fog, until he arrives in Hanover street. 


46 


Two Kisses. 


“Yes, Mrs. Ilemsworth is at home, and will see him.” 

Gore ascends to the pretty sitting-room that he knows so well; and is greeted witli 
great cordiality. 

“ So very kind of you to come and see me such wretched weather,” observed Cissy, 
as she seated herself comfortably in an arm-chair. “ I shall never have courage to go 
out such a miserable day. You know you are always welcome, but with your usual 
tact you have timed your visit so as to ensure both thanks and gratitude to boot. 
Now you shall tell me your news ; you’ve none, I fear, favorable to mv own imme- 
diate interests.” 

“ Nothing, I regret to say,” replied the hamster. “ Do you know, I’ve come down 
to ask questions ? ” 

“What about?” returned Cissy, laughing; “ but remember, Mr. Gore, it must be 
question for question. I can’t guess what you want to know, but I also have pangs 
of curiosity at times.” 

“ Well, I think, !Mrs. Ilemsworth, — it struck me in short, the other night, that it 
might facilitate the inquiry,! am making upon your behalf, if you would not mind 
telling me as much as you can remember of your early life. Your life, I mean, 
previous to your entering that convent.” 

Cissy’s face fell, and for some seconds she made no reply. At last she said, 
slowly : — 

“ I hope it will not stand in the way of such prospects as I may have ; but, ]\lr. 
Gore, I do not think I can tell you that.” 

The barrister started; he had no anticipation of such an answer. It was not that he 
expected to gain much from hearing the history of INIrs. Ilcmsworth’s childhood, but 
still it might afford a hint of some new direction in which to prosecute his search. 
What objection could she have to reveal it ? The first eleven or twelve years of her 
life, surely there could be nothing to conceal about. 

“ I don’t say that it will ; but you will also, very probably, decline to tell me 
anything about your parents, — that may hamper me considerably,” he observed at 
length. 

“ I have no recollection at all of m3' mother. She died when I was quite a child,” 
replied Cissy. 

“But 3mur father; surely I understood 3mu that it was he who arranged 3'our 
marriage, and gave 3'ou awa}',” exclaimed Gore, in much bewilderment. 

“ Yes,” rejoined Ciss}', quietly. 

“ And of him ? ” 

“ I will tell3'ou nothing,” interrupted the widow. “ I cannot; I don’t wish to make 
an3’ m3'stcrics of m3' early 3'ears. I am sure I cannot see an3'thing to make a m3'stery 
about; but I have promised to keep my lips sealed concerning them, and I intend to 
keep my word.” 

Montague Gore felt uneasy, disconcerted. What reason could Cissy’s father have 


47 


In the Temple. 

for keeping so entirely in the background. lie was already aware that he should 
\ commit a great imprudence if he married Mrs. Ilemsworth. What she now told him 
: { was certainly not calculated to remove his misgivings ; and yet so completely was he 
'i fascinated with her, that it was odds, had Cissy given him any encouragement, that 
he would have asked her to be his bride in the course of this interview. But she did 
not. She was simply frank and cordial; and, after some further desultory con- 
versation, Gore took his departure, the momentous words still unspoken. 

CHAPTER IX. 

IN THE TEMPLE. 

Mr. Eox Brine pursued his arduous literary career in very comfortable chambers 
in the Temple. It Avas there he sketched out these thrilling romances, sparkling 
comedies, tremendous dramas and smashing articles Avhich never received embodi- 
ment. The nether regions are reputed paved with good intentions; Mr. Brine’s 
chambers Averc carpeted Avith undeveloped ideas. The very Avails and book-shelves 
bore Avitness to the multiplicity of his conceptions. Here hung a chart of the MuU 
of Cantirc, Avhich he had procured Avith some difficulty Avhen he had thought of that 
great drama on the Irish Rebellion. At the time that he Avas overwhelming his 
friends Avith that idea, it had 'been mildly suggested to him that the French did not 
disembark in that vieinity. To Avhich Mr. Brine had loftily replied that art could not 
be trammelled by history, and that, if Hoche did not knoAV AAdiere he should have 
landed in a dramatic point of vicAV, he (Fox Brine) did, and intended to coiTect 
such mistake. There hung an ordnance map of the county of Devonshire. Mr. 
Brine had once conceived an elaborate notion of a novel connected Avith that county, 
' and commenced collecting materials accordingly. With similar vicAV of AAuIting 
articles on the French dramatists, he had got together a pretty extensive library of 
their Avorks. Biographical dictionaries, dictionaries of dates, classical dictionaries, 
dictionaries of all kinds Avere streAvn about the room ; for Avith so undetermined a 
bent of genius, Mr. Brine argued he never could be certain Avhat books of reference 
he might require. 

The nattiest of AAU’iting-tables stood in one of the AAundoAVS, furnished Avith material 
. of every description ; foolscap, journalist slips, note-books, cahiers, pens, and pencils 
of all sorts ; for Mr. Brine Avas quite as much impressed at this minute, as he had been 
on leaving the University, that he Avas just about to begin. He still sprang from his 
bed, lit a candle, and rushing To the Avriting-table, dashed off some crude idea for 
play or story as he was Avont to do some seven years ago, Avith equal belief that it 
would develop into something that should make the tOAvn ring again. Continual 


48 


Two Kisses. 


failure is apt to discourage a man ; but Fox Brine had never encountered that, for the 
best of all possible reasons, — that he had never yet solicited the suffrages of the public. 
Tliat his ideas always ended in dreams, never seemed to dispirit this philosopher in 
the least. He felt quite as confident of success, whenever he could find time, as ever. 
What stood in the way of his finding that precious necessity he did not condescend 
to explain, but his intimates were not sanguine of success ever attending his search 
for that requisite leisure. 

Mr. Fox Brine, clad in smoking-jacket and sliiDpers, and stretched at full length on 
his sofa, is tranquillizing his jaded mind with a cigarette and a French novel, when 
some one knocks sharply at his door. 

“ Come in,” cries the literary theorist, raising his head slightly ; and, obedient to the 
command, Charlie Detffeld enters the apartment. 

“Hard at work. Fox, as usual, I see,” observed Charlie, grinning, and throwing 
his hat and gloves carelessly on the table. 

It is a little joke amongst Brine’s friends always to affect a belief tliat he is over- 
whelmed with work. 

“ Halloa, Charlie ! ” returned that gentleman, making a supreme effort, and thereby 
attaining a sitting position. “ You find me ^ paresseux comme un xrai artiste." What 
brings yon to the East so early ? It looks bad, young man, when Her Majesty’s 
guardsmen are doing business in the city at these, for them, abnormal hours. There 
is a suspicion of looking after money in unwholesome localities about it.” 

‘‘ I don’t know that I should quarrel much about the locality. Fox ; if I could but 
discover a Tom Tiddler’s ground, I’d not be very particular as to the where,” replied 
Detfield, as he threw himself wearily back in a chair. 

They were old college friends these two, and had been sworn allies ever since. 
Though running in very different grooves, yet ])oth were essentially London men, 
and consequently they often met. The guardsman was always delighted if he could 
induce Brine to join his dinner on the Bank guard, and knew that his friend was 
equally pleased whenever he invaded his rooms in the Temple. 

“ Financial tightness, eh, Charlie ? ” replied Brine, lazily. I tell you what it is, — 
it's all nonsense to talk of the unpleasantness, but really there’s nothing like suffering 
the pomp of respectable poverty. How I put it to you. It hits happened to me in the 
month of August to have predilections in favor of dining at Bichmond, or down the 
river, when the stafe of the exchequer has compelled me to devour a chop at the 
‘ Cheshire Cheese ’ instead. I really doubt whether I did not suffer as much, men- 
tally, as disreputable poverty which didn’t dine at all.” 

‘‘Yes, old fellow, but jmu had somewhat the pull of them physically, you know,” 
rejoined Detfield, helping himself to a cigar from a box on the table. 

“ Physical suffering dulls mental,” responded Fox, dogmatically. 

“ And, therefore, if you had only abstained from gratifying your unholy appetite — 
Kept, in short, the fast which your circumstances demanded — you wouldn’t have had 


In the Temple. 


49 


your mind harassed and perturbed by visions of Kichmond park and the silvery 
Thames. But I want to talk to you, Fox.’^ 

“ Well,” replied Mr. Brine, languidly, “talk. If you’re going to rave about fem- 
inine attractions, don’t be offended if I doze. If you’re in a scrape, with a woman at 
the bottom of it, don’t ask my advice, because I know by experience a man always 
goes his own way under such circumstances ; if it’s a financial scrape, my sympathy 
and name are at your service. ‘ I give you all ; I can no more.’ As regards more 
substantial help, imagine me, as our transatlantic friends say, ‘ cornered.’ I presume 
you can’t have come to grief except through love or paper.” 

“ Never mind my love affairs ; they’re not likely to hurt me.” 

“ I have heard that you were carrying on with Mrs. Paynter more than our grand- 
mothers would approve,” observed Brine, meditatively. 

“Don’t be a fool. Fox,” retorted Charlie, laughing. “Do you want to know the 
worst ? I admire Mrs. Paynter, — I like her better than any other woman in London, 
and, just at present, she condescends to approve of me ; but, old fellow, she’s not 
likely to lose her head, supposing even that I did ; no harm, beheve me, will come of 
that flirtation.” 

“ God bless me ! how can you go on 'with it, then ? ” exclaimed Brine. “ It must be 
so veiy insipid. Flirtation I always understood to be 

“ * A chase of idle hopes and fears. 

Begun in folly, closed in tears.’ 

I never go in for it myself, and I’m glad now I don’t. I always looked upon it like 
playing with fire ; that there was all the excitement of a possible conflagration — ” 

“Do hold your tongue. Fox ! I want to ask you a question. Do you know any- 
thing about Major Claxby Jenkens ? ” 

“Well, I might say no further than that I do know him by sight; but I’m not 
quite clear, if I thought it all out, that I couldn’t tell you something about him.” 

“ Then think it all out, because he’s becoming rather a prominent fact in my some- 
what disordered affairs, just now, and I should like to know what I can about him. Is 
he a money-lender ? in the first place ; has he a daughter ? in the second ; and, thirdly, 
who the devil is Claxby Jenkens ? ” , 

“ No, I don’t quite think he’s a money-lender, Charlie,” replied Brine, as he threw 
his cigarette into the grate ; “ and as to who Claxby Jenkens is, I fancy none but 
Claxby Jenkens can inform you. As for daughters, he may have a dozen, for all I 
know. What do you want to know for ? ” 

“ Well,” said Detfield, “ if not of the tribes, he’s in alliance with them. I happened 
to see him on business the other day, and he not only proposed matrimony as a cure 
for my liabilities, but offered to find the lady.” 

“ The devil he did ! ” exclaimed Fox Brine, starting up with considerable animation. 

‘ This becomes interesting. By Jove ! there’s a drama to be got out of this. Act the 


50 


Two Kisses. 


First. — On tbc road to ruin. Act the Second. — Ruined, despair, suicidal thoughts. 
Act the Third. — Salvation, and marriage with Rehccca, daughter of Isaac. Think of 
the tableaux, my boy,” ho continued, enthusiastically. “ Epsom Downs for the fall 
of the drop in Act I. Waterloo Bridge by moonlight, for Act II. ; of course you’re 
saved by the policeman; no, perhaps you had better go over the parapet, and be 
rescued by the jolly young waterman and Ilcbecca, who happens to he taking her 
pleasure on the river just then ; water scone that would beat the ‘ Colleen Bawn ’ 
hollow. Act III., Tableau — A Jewish wedding, with Moorish ballet; quite per- 
missible, if not quite correct. Art, sir, cannot he fettered by accuracy of detail. All 
right, Charlie, my boy ; we’ll get a drama out of it any way, and pay all our debts. 
I’ve got two or three veteran creditors we shall probably kill. They dun me when- 
ever their livers are out of order and the gout threatens them. I’m a sort of open sore 
that carries off their noxious humors. When they’ve nobody to bully they’ll probably 
cease to exist.” 

“ Well, now, Fox, if you have done raving,” observed Detfield, who could not help 
laughing at seeing his friend so fairly off on that visionary hobby, that he had never 
ceased riding since he had commenced keeping his terms for the bar ; ** I should 
like — ” 

“Raving, and you’d like — ” interrupted Brine, with mock solemnity; “what 
would you like, sir ? What more would 3"ou have ? You come to me, a votary of 
art, with j^our petty, worldty grievances, and I reduce them, by the inspiration of my 
genius, to a dramatic poem, — a conception calculated to make not onty j-^ou but all 
London weep at the story of j'our woes. Great heavens ! Avhen I propose to harrow 
the whole metropolis with the liistoiy of j^our wrongs, what more would 3'ou have, 
ingrate ? I have done. Now, j'^ou soulless being, what’s the row ? ” 

“ That which yourself has raised chietly,” replied Charlie. “ I onty want a quiet 
talk, and I should like — ” 

“To have it all to j'oursclf,” interrupted Brine. “No, I’ll not submit to the 
monologue. Do 3"ou think I also have not ideas, and that it docs not occur to me to 
express them ? ” 

“ No, by Jove, I don’t, nor any one else that knows 3*011 ! But still I should like — ” 

“ Of course 3*011 would,” again interposed Brine. “ Wly" on earth can’t 3*011 sa3' 
what 3*ou would like at once, instead of beating about the bush in this manner ? ” 

“ Something to drink,” replied Charlie, grinning. lie knew Fox Brine thoroughty, 
and was not to bo extinguished by his badinage. 

“ And why couldn’t 3’’Ou sa3^ so before ? There never is any bringing you militaiy 
men to the point,” rejoined Brine, with the utmost gravity. 

“Well, I don’t think if 3*011 put that point to my company. Fox, you’ll have much 
cause of complaint. Meanwhile, give me some claret and soda, and I’ll tell 3*011 some 
news for it.” 

“ What’s that ? ” inquired Brine, as he produced the required beverage. 

“ I think Montague Gore is in a fair way to get married.” 


In the Temple. 


51 


“Montague Gore married! Pooh, my dear Charlie! What put that into your 
head ? Don’t you know the story of my poor sister ? ” 

“Yes, I have heard the histoiy of that tragedy of his early days,” replied Detfield; 
“ but you must remember that was a good while ago. He is pretty hard hit now, I 
fancy ; and so think better judges than I.” 

“ The better judges in this case being Mrs. Paynter,” obseiwed Brine, without ever 
glancing at his companion. “ Well, it’s a thing I’d sooner have a woman’s opinion on 
than a man’s, if you’re quite sure that you have really got it. But ladies sometimes 
predict what they wish on this point. You see I’ve known Gore all my life, and, 
although he is a dozen years my senior, intimately. He was always kind to me when 
I was a little beggar. We came from the same neighborhood, and are in a way con- 
nected. Now, who’s the lady ? ” 

“A Mrs. Hemsworth, a widow; and further than that her late husband was in 
business of some kind at Paris. I can tell you nothing ; stay, yes, I can : the widow is 
a deuced good-looking, attractive, lady-like woman.” 

“ That’s all you know, eh ? ” inquired Brine. 

“ All ! ” replied Detfield, tersely. 

“Very good ; now we’ll discuss your own marriage.” 

“ I say, hold on ; what are you talking about ? ” cried Charlie, hurriedly. 

“This little prescription that Doctor Jenkcns has prescribed for you. He is a 
clever man that. I really don’t see, my dear Charlie, if you’re in the difficulties I 
deem, what you could do better. There’s only one thing puzzles me, — Avhat the deuce 
makes him take such a fatherly interest in you ? I shouldn’t have supposed, from 
what I have heard of him, that there was much of the philanthropist about the major.” 

“But you don’t suppose. Fox, I’m going to undertake to marry a woman in that 
sort of way ; a girl whom I’ve never seen ? ” 

“ Well, why the deuce don’t you see her ? She may be a vision of light, an em- 
bodiment of grace and beauty, a perfect houri, for all you can tell.” 

“ But I tell you I don’t want to marry.” 

“ My dear Charlie, it’s no use at your time of life talking about what you don’t 
want to do ; we’re all the victims of circumstances. The world, in the shape of jmur 
creditors, requires you to sacrifice yourself on what is usually termed the hymeneal 
altar. Don’t be indecorous ; jmu’ve had your fling. It’s quite time you were settled.” 

“ How nice you talk ! ” said Detfield, laughing in spite of himself. “ I wonder how 
you’d like it ? ” 

“I might not like it, sir,” replied Fox, with the utmost gravity; “but if it was 
imparted to me that a bride and riches were awaiting my acceptance, I should 
certainly display resignation, and think it my duty to society to throw no obstacles in 
the way of what society would, no dount, deem so desirable.” 

“ Very well, old fellow, I shall be delighted to resign in your favor. In the mean 
time, remember I want to know Avhat you can make out about Claxby Jenkens. 
Now I must be going.” 


. :^2 


Two Kisses. 


“ Yes ; but, Charlie, you’re not in a condition to resign. Ecsignation in your case 
means not going to the country, but going to that most unappeasable constituency, 
your creditors. Bribery is the only thing that will content them. Bribery is a 
question of money; so go, my friend, bow to your destiny, and marry.” 

“Xo, Fox, I’ll leave that to you,” said Charlie, gayly, as he took up his hat, “and 
in the mean time — ” 

“ You’ll probabh^ make a further mess of it,” observed Brine, quietly. 

“ Play the devil with the third act, in short ; perhaps so ; we shall see ; ” and with a 
careless nod Detfield took his departure. 

“ It’s a rum thing ; but then rum things are always coming about,” mused Mr. 
Brine. “ Old Jenkens interesting himself in Charlie Detfield is what may be denomi- 
nated an uncommonly rum thing. But as for drama, Charlie’s not going to spoil that, 
I’m not going to be confined to facts, and I’ll marry him on paper, in the third act, 
whatever he may think fit to do in reality.” 

CblAPTEE X. 

THE MISSES STANBURY. 

Bransbury park, Islington, is a thoroughfare of unmistakable respectability. 
The houses all look 'well-to-do, as if they were the homes of thriving citizens, with 
comfortable balances at their bankers. Plenty of plate-glass to be seen in the dressing- 
room window's ; flow^ers carefully cultivated^on the balconies. The gardens running 
up from the roadw^ay to the front door are all neat, trim, and natty, bright with 
blossom in the summer-time, and filled w’ith shrubs in the wdntcr. Barnsbury park 
is evidently addicted to floriculture, and makes the most of the limited ground at its 
command. One house in particular there seemed to pride itself upon its garden, its 
window's, and a small conservatory that w'as built over its porch. It the season it w^as 
gay past conception w'ith roses, azaleas, and all sorts of hot-house plants ; the balconies 
W'ere filled w'ith them, the little garden w\a3 a blaze of color, and the aforesaid 
conseiwatory thronged with delicate ferns and other rare specimens. In the w'inter- 
time the cunning of the gardener filled the beds w'ith dw'arf hollies all glittering w'ith 
their crimson berries, W'ith glossy-leaved Portugal laurels, and other evergreens, so 
that even then it did not look bare, dank, and melancholy, as gardens arc w'ont to do 
at that time of year. 

In the house, as w'as well known to the neighborhood, resided tw'o maiden ladies, of 
the name of Stanbury. Of the Misses Stanbury’s antecedents Bransbury park knew 
nothing, and cared less. They had taken possession of Eoseneath House some ten or 
twelve years back, were evidently possessed of ample means, paid their bills regularly, 
and attended church with undeviating punctiliousness ; had indeed rather a penchant 


The Misses Stanbury. 


53 


for clergymen's society, wore thought to hold themselves somewhat high, and were 
vaguely reputed to be of good family. In fact, the Misses Stanbury were sometimes 
considered to give theniselves airs on the strength of their presumed aristocratic 
connections ; otherwise they were two harmless, elderly ladies, with a great love for 
gossip, cards, and rather full-flavored religion. 

Of course they were not altogether alike ; no two people ever are in this world, 
much as their tastes may assimilate. Miss Matilda was the less worldly of the two ; 
more given to gossip and good works than her sister. Miss Clementina had carnal 
inclinations with regard to cards and light suppers in a more pronounced degree 
than Miss Matilda. But on two points there was not a pin to choose between them, 
namely, their extreme passion for flowers, and their preposterous admiration of their 
niece Bessie. 

It is true that there were extenuating circumstances ; but still the way these two old 
ladies did combine to pet and spoil Bessie Stanbury, just turned of eighteen, was a 
sorrowful sight to see. Bessie, with her quaint, whimsical ways, had not altogether 
succumbed to it as yet ; but who shall say how long, at her age, it will be before she 
deteriorates ? There is not an atom of selfishness about Bessie ; and that is a consider- 
able safeguard to her, under the circumstances. MeanAvhile, in her own airy fashion, 
she tyrannizes over her supposed guardians to their extreme delectation. 

A good-looking girl one would say, regarding her as she sits sipping her tea, this 
dull November afternoon. Her close-fitting riding-habit shows a neat, trim figure, 
and, as she has thrown off her hat, the thick coils of her brown hair are exposed to 
view. A bright, quick face, lit by laughing hazel eyes, straightish brows, nez retroussi^y 
and a very pretty mouth, — such is Bessie Stanbury. 

Yes, Aunt Clem, I did enjoy my canter. I always do, you know, but as I said 
before, Barnsbury park is a little dull.” 

“ Why, my dear child, what would you have ? I’m sure we are always going out.” 

“ Exactly ; but then, jmu see. Aunt Clem, your goings out and my goings out are 
not quite the same things. You know I like dancing better than cards. Now Baims- 
bury park, like that dreadful dragoon regiment, I forget which it was, don’t dance.” 

“ You’re a great deal too volatile, Bessie,” interposed Miss Matilda, laughing. “ A 
round game and people to talk to was considered quite dissipation enough for a puss 
of eighteen in my time.” 

“But, Aunt Matilda,” rejoined Bessie, with mock gravity, “things are changed 
since your time, and really in these days it is a slur upon a young woman not to have 
indulged in a little valsing. I do think you will have to give a ball on my account.” 

“ A ball ! ” exclaimed Miss Matilda. 

“ My dear Bessie ! ” ejaculated Aunt Clem. 

“ Well, you know, it needn’t be quite a ball. We’ll call it a dance, and then it won’t 
sound so tremendous.” 

“ Good gracious ! what would Mr. Holdenough say ? ” cried Miss Matilda. 

“And Mr. Boxby,” chimed in Aunt Clem. 


54 


Two Kisses. 


Say nothing-, but come, if -sve invited them. That’s not the difficulty. It is much 
more serious. Where are -we to find the young men ? ” 

“ I won’t have any young men about my place,” observed Miss Matilda, with a toss 
of her head. 

“ ‘ Oh dear! what’s to become of me, 

Oh dear ! what shall I do? ”* 

sang Bessie, with eyes brimming over with laughter. 

“ You must, Aunt Tilda. I know they are objectionable. They Avill light their 
cigars in the hall, — horrid things I — as they go away ; but you see we girls can’t get 
on without them when it comes to dancing, and they are useful in other ways, you 
know.” 

“ In what way, miss, I should like to be informed ? ” demanded Miss Matilda, 
austerely. 

“ Well, auntie, I can’t say exactly ; but they get tickets for things, you see, and 
they tell us what is going on, and — and — and — in short, there is a good deal of in- 
formation to be picked up from them,” concluded Bessie, with a peal of laughter, 
— clear, ringing, musical laughter, that spoke of youth with high hope and trust in 
the world before it. 

“ Mr. Boxby was saying the other day that we ought to mix more in society, on 
Bessie’s account,” observed Aunt Clem, meditatively. 

“ Never mind Mr. Roxby,” returned that young lady, gayly. “ Don’t trouble your 
heads on Bessie’s account, till Bessie herself begins chattering about what she wants. 
As you know by sad experience. Aunt Clem, she calls out pretty soon for anything 
she fancies. You needn’t be afraid she’ll leave you in ignorance. There’s a kiss for 
you,” continued INliss Stanbiiry, giving her aunt a hug, “and now I must run away 
and take off my habit.” 

“ I dare say it is rather dull for a bright young thing like her,” said Miss Clementina, 
as the door closed on Bessie. “ Our little card parties and so on can’t be much fun 
for her.” 

“ Yes, sister. I’ll admit that,” returned INIiss Matilda, “ but we really cannot have a 
ball here. It’s preposterous ; not to be thought of.” 

“ I don’t think Bessie quite meant that,” obseiwed Miss Clementina, with a quiet 
smile. “ It was only her fun.” 

The two aunts differed very much in this. Miss Matilda never could see through 
her niece’s badinage, but took it all quite seriously, while Miss Clementina did in great 
measure understand it, and enjoyed it in her quiet way immensely. There is usually 
a suspicion of truth in most badinage, and in many cases a good deal more than that. 
Few of us but can recall schemes or ideas mooted in jest, which after events showed 
the speaker must have had very much at heart. 

“ You sec, Matilda,” continued Aunt Clem, after a short pause, “ although I don’t 
think Bessie the least in earnest about a ball, I do think she would be very pleased if 


The Misses Stanbicry, 55 

we gave a little dance, though I don’t believe she really dreams of our doing such a 
thing.” 

“ But we cannot have a lot of supercilious young men about here, sneering at our 
quiet, old-fashioned arrangements, and the young men of these days are incessantly 
turning up their noses ; nothing is ever good enough for them, and their noses never 
come down. They are very inferior to the young men of our day, Clem.” 

Alas ! it always is so, everything deteriorates as youth ebbs from us. 

“ The cows gave then a sweeter cream, 

And swifter ran the miller’s stream ; 

Far larger grapes from vines were swung; 

For boys were braver to all eyes, 

And girls did not poor youth despise, 

In twenty-two, when I was young.” 

“ I don’t know,” replied Aunt Clem, smiling. “ Luckily Bessie can’t compare them 
and see how inferior they arc. Besides, Matilda, how is she ever going to get a 
husband if she doesn’t meet with young men ? ” 

“ A child like her doesn’t want a husband. I do hope, Clementina, you haven’t 
been putting ridiculous ideas into her head.” 

“ Oh, dear ! ” laughed Aunt Clem, “ such ideas want no putting into a girl’s head ; 
they’re implanted there by nature. But though she mayn’t want a husband yet, still 
she will some day. Bemember she’s an heirpss, and ought to have more opportunity 
of selection than our humdrum life affords her.” 

“I don’t consider our life humdrum, and have no doubt that Bessie will find a 
wooer quite soon enough,” retorted Matilda, with much asperity. 

What’s that about, Bessie ? ” exclaimed the young lady in question, as she once 
more entered the room. “ What’s Bessie done, or about to do ? ” 

‘‘ Take a book, and hold her tongue, I trust,” retorted Miss Matilda, tartly. 

The girl opened her eyes, and glanced with mute inquiry to Miss Clementina ; but 
that lady only shook her head, and elevated her eyebrows slightly. 

Bessie paused for a second, then marched deliberately across to Miss Matilda’s 
chair and knelt beside it. 

“ Now, aunt,” she said, gayly, “ let’s have it out at once. Wliat have I done ? I’ll 
not be in disgrace without knowing why. What is it ? ” 

Terrible to confront are these frank, direct people. To state in precise terms the 
offending of all those who incur our displeasure w’^ould occasion a good deal of hum- 
ming, hawing, and, it is to be feared, invention on the part of most of us in the course 
of twelve months. When we have wrought ourselves up to the pitch of a very pretty 
quarrel, it is dreadfully embarrassing to be called on to state our grounds for it. 

Miss Matilda felt nonplussed. She had a vague feeling of being aggrieved, and a 
still more misty idea that Bessie was the culprit. She felt a little out of temper, and 


5fi 


Two Kisses. 


'Nvauted a scapegoat, that was all. But here was the terrible scapegoat requesting an 
abstract of the charges preferred against her. Who ever heard of such conduct on 
the part of a scapegoat? For my part, 1 quite feel for INliss IMatilda. I don’t see 
how ill-humor is to be vented, or how we can ever quarrel comfortably with our 
neighbors, if an explanation is to be insisted on in the very first stage. We cannot 
humbug ourselves about the real reason then, usually entirely different from that we 
have taught ourselves to believe some few weeks later. 

“ Done, child ? ” said Miss Matilda; nothing; that is to say, more than I am ac- 
customed to on your part. You’ve talked nonsense.” 

“ Oh, my! aunt; if that’s all,” laughed Bessie, “I don’t think I can be in such 
disgrace. But what was it ? ” 

“Well, / can’t have any dancing here, sauce-box,” replied Miss Matilda, melting 
rapidly, as her niece fondled her hand. 

“ Oh, that’s it, is it ? ” returned Bessie, springing to her feet. “ Now, Aunt Clem, 
you will have to subdue your thirsting for a quadrille. And, as for me, I must 
exorcise those ‘ Fille de Mme. Angot valses ’ from my brain. Here’s the head of the 
house says she’ll have none of such frivolities. I tell you what. Aunt Matilda, either 
sell or make fire-wood of the piano. We’ll put away all temptation from within the 
gates, and give the street organs notice of legal proceedings if they come here with 
their jig-a-jig tunes. We’re going to be good — very good — good suiqoassing all 
calculation. What would you have me wear, aunt, during that period of repentance ? ” 

“ Sit down, and let’s have a truce to your nonsense,” replied Miss Matilda, smiling, 
and with an inward conviction that BesSie would prove too much for her, and that 
Roseneath House would entertain dancers after all. 

“ Ah, yes. Aunt Clem and I must commence reformation henceforth. Peas in their 
shoes is the only fit punishment for people with such dreadful ideas.” 

“ I don’t see why we shouldn’t give a little dance,” said Miss Clementina, musingly. 

“My dear Clementina! ” said Aunt Matilda, in tones of expostulation, a good deal 
more mellowed all the same, than those in which she had met the first proposal of 
such a thing. 

“ I’m shocked at you. Aunt Clem,” said Bessie. “ I trust the head of the house 
doesn’t think I’m an abettor of your dissipated views ; ” and the girl threw herself 
back in a chair, and indulged in a low, gurgling laugh, irresistibly catching. 

The elder ladies gradually took the infection and joined in it. 

“ It’s the old story, Clementina,” cried Miss Matilda, at length. “ I suppose this 
spoilt child must have her own way.” 

“ No dancing on my account, please,” retorted Bessie, demurely. “ Life has, I am 
aware, higher objects than pointing your toe. Still, if you insist upon giving a ball, 
Aunt Matilda, I know I shall do my duty, and I can valse if required.” 

“ Oh, well, Bessie, if you really don’t care about it — ” 

“ But I do care about it, you dear old aunt,” cried Miss Bessie, springing to her 
feet, and making a tumultuous dash at Miss Matilda. “ There,” she continued, kissing 


Good Counsel. 


57 


her, “that’s settled, we’re to have a dance. IIovv big, we don’t know — nobody 
ever does, I believe, when they first contemplate taking up the cai’pet.” 

“ Take up the carpet, my dear Bessie ? — I didn’t intend that.” 

“ No, but you see it would be so bad for the carpet if it was left down ; we might 
dance holes in it. Think of that. Now, if we come to the boards, we shall only 
dance holes in our shoes.” 

“ We had better do the thing properly while we are about it,” chimed in Aunt Clem. 
- “ Oh, yes,” exclaimed Bessie, “ and it won’t bother you a bit. Aunt Matilda. It’s 
only locking yourself up in your bedroom for two days, or having a couple of after- 
noons at the South Kensington Exhibition.” 

Miss Matilda, her little fit of ill-temper now thoroughly dissipated, could not help 
laughing at her niece’s proposition, but rejoined : — 

“ No, Bessie, I think I had better stop and-help superintend the aiTangements. My 
old head may turn out useful.” 

“ Of course you will be useful, invaluable,” cried Bessie. “ What fun it will be, 
planning it all ! Why, we shall have two or three days’ immense amusement contriving 
before this comes to pass. You, I, and Aunt Clem, how busy we will be ! ” and then 
the girl stole her arm gently round Miss Matilda’s waist, and said softly, “ and how 
good you both are to me.” 

“ Go away with you, you little wheedler,” rejoined Miss' Stanbuiy,- with a mock 
affectation of austerity. “ I have always remarked that concession invariably leads 
to further requirements where you are concerned; you get no more out of me to- 
night, miss. Heaven only knows what you’ll be wanting next ! Coote and Tinney’s 
band, or some similar absurdity. Yon had best try what you can make of Aunt Clem, 
now, and I give her warning,” continued Miss Matilda, raising her voice, “that what 
she pledges herself to, she does upon her own responsibility, and at her own personal 
risk and expense.” 

“ I can’t do anything more with her to-night,” cried the girl, laughing memly. 
“ She’s pledged to give a ball, and that’s enough for the present. If she’s mean. Aunt 
Clem, when it comes to details, you and I will have to run our credit in the neighbor- 
hood. For the Boseneath ball must not, shall not, and cannot prove a failure.” 

And so came about a ball which will have something to do with the course of this 
history. 



- dlAPTEB XI. 

GOOD COUNSEL. 

Mrs. Patnter has thought a good deal over her interview with Major Claxfiy 
Jenkens. She has questioned Charlie Detfield pretty sharply about his relations with 
that gallant officer, but is fain to confess that she has not gathered much information 
concerning them. 


58 


Two Kisses. 


“ Yes,” Charlie said, “ of course he knew him, — one of those sort of fellows cvciy- 
body knew. Who was he ? That was just what it was. Kind of fellow you never did 
know anything about. He had had some sort of business transactions with him ; was 
talking to him the other day about buying that horse of Packenham’s, but they 
couldn’t deal. Jenkens does a good deal on commission in the buying and selling 
way,” remarked Charlie. 

“Well, but is he a friend of yours ? ” inquired Mrs. Paynter, pertinaciously. 

“Certainly not,” replied Detfield; “an acquaintance, nothing more.” 

“ It’s very odd,” thought Mrs. Paynter. 

“ It’s very odd,” thought Charlie Detfield ; “ what has put this idea into her head ? ” 
and in his turn he inquired “ what she knew about Major Jenkens.” 

But Mrs. Paynter had not as yet made up her mind, and she refused to tell him 
anything ; laughed it off, and said that was her secret. One of these days, perhaps, 
he would be married, and then she would confess it all to his wife. To which Charlie 
had promptly replied, that, though he had no intention of committing matrimony 
just then, he’d prefer that these secrets of his bachelor days should be buried in 
oblivion ; although what this particular secret might be he did not pretend to guess. 
Still Mrs. Paynter, working out this problem with all a woman’s quiet, steady persist- 
ency, did easily arrive at the certainty of what she had already suspected ; namely, 
that Charlie Detfield was in desperate difiSculties ; in short, as one of her informants 
told her, “ had shot his bolt.” 

Coquette, yes, she was, and could not help it. The game of flirtation was the essence 
of life to her; but for all that she was not a bad woman. She was not of that kind 
who, merciless in their hour of triumph, look with pitiless disdain upon their writhing 
victim. Lizzie was wont to be stricken with remorse when her admirers were too 
seriously wounded. She didn’t mean that. "Why could they not content themselves 
with a little sentiment, as she did, instead of making the terrible mistake of getting so 
dreadfully in earnest ? Although, as before said, she was too hardened a flirt not to 
somewhat enjoy a scene at the time, yet she had her moments of penitence afterwards ; 
more especially, too, was she always anxious to part friends on these occasions ; and, 
as a rule, she succeeded. 

She was a very curious combination of good and evil, a combination much more 
common in this world than perhaps is usually credited. People in their inexorable 
judgment of appearances will be hard of belief that one of the most reckless flirts it 
is possible to conceive could in reality be true and loyal to her husband. And yet 
they will readily admit similar social problems without question. When one of our 
commercial lights has first flirted, and finally run away with other folks’ moneys, 
there are never wanting friends to descant on his domestic virtues. Still, as the 
costermonger remarked, upon selling the pineapple, “everything in this world goes 
by appearances;” and if you would be credited with virtue, you must, at all events, 
give no occasion for scandal. 

Mrs. Paynter, too, is just now extremely interested in Montague Gore’s palpable 


Good Counsel. 


59 


deTotion to the fair widow, and awaits the denouement with considerable impatience. 

Quite evident,” thinks Lizzie, that he will speak whenever Cissy chooses to make 
him. Why does she delay ? It is true that they couldn’t be married for another six 
months. I suppose the proprieties must be observed, even when your late husband 
was an ill-tempered, ill-bred brute. But with her miserable prospects I should think 
it would be a comfort to get something definitely settled ; and yet she goes on as calmly 
confident about her future as if the whole thing was assured. Poor darling ! Why, she 
hasn’t even got a parish to come down upon ; for she has no idea where she was born, 
beyond that it was in England.” And once more Mrs. Paynter’s mind was exercised 
as to whether Cissy was deep, past all calculation, or next door to a fool. “ And yet 
she can’t be the latter,” thought Lizzie. “ I never hear people complain that she 
cannot talk; that they are unable to get on with her. On the contrary, wherever I 
have taken her, people seemed charmed with her piquant, graceful manners. It is 
true, in consequence of her mourning, I have not been able to do much for her in that 
line as yet ; still I know, from what I have seen, that society hold her quick enough.” 

But Mrs. Paynter’s attention was destined to be, for a little time, thoroughly absorbed 
in Captain Detfield’s afiairs. Although she had boldly asserted to the major that, if 
Charlie’s extrication from his difficulties was to be accomplished by matrimony, she 
was quite as capable of finding him a wife as any one, yet, when she came to reflect 
upon it, she was forced to admit that she could not call to mind any eligible lady just 
at present. She could not make up her mind as to whether she would ally herself 
with the major or not. If she could but be certain that he was honestly striving to 
help Charlie in the only feasible manner that occurred to him, well, then she would 
exert all her influence to induce that impoverished guardsman to comply with Major 
Jenkens’ wishes. “Yes,” she said, with a sigh, and putting on an aspect of touching 
resignation, “ I will sacrifice my own feelings to save him. He shall marry this red- 
haired, red-elbowed woman, who has been discovered for him, and I trust he will be 
happy and — more prudent.” 

Why Mrs. Paynter should picture the unkno^vn heiress as possessed of these unpre- 
possessing attributes, one can’t say ; but she derived much comfort and support from 
having so imaged her. She had worked herself quite up to the belief that she was 
about to make a stupendous sacrifice for the sake of the man she loved, and pleased 
herself by picturing up a most pathetic parting scene with Charlie Detfield. 

There was more imagination than heart in Lizzie’s affaires de cceur always, but one 
thing she was in earnest about. She was willing to resign her admirer for his own 
" interest ; but she kept back, even from herself, as yet, one important condition, 
namely, that it must be to a woman whom she could not possibly regard as a rival. 
She had told Major Jenkens that she would see this bride he had elected for Detfield, 
and still held firmly to that idea as a sine qua non of giving him her support. 

She had said that she would write to him when she had made up her mind, but of 
course she had not done so, and had good grounds for refraining. It was evident, 
from what she had gathered, that this man was no fj'iend of Charlie’s. What, then, 


60 


Two Kisses. 


made him take such an interest in this marriage ? She had lived too much in the 
•world not to suppose that he must have some scheme of his own to serve in doing so, 
and naturally divined that this might not tend very much to Captain Deffield’s advan- 
tage. Once make her clearly understand that it really was for his benefit, and Lizzie 
was just the woman with generosity to ignore herself and not stand in the way. She 
knew perfectly, that her influence, at present, over Charlie was quite sufficient to 
crush such a design easily ; but then, though she liked him, it was in her own butter- 
fly fashion, and her feelings were by no means so deeply involved as to prevent her 
proving a true friend to him, should circumstances give opportunity. 

A month and more has gone by since the major’s visit, and Lizzie has almost for- 
gotten it, though she had thought much over it for some days after it had occurred. 
One morning she received a note, which brought back the alfair vividly to her memory. 
Persevering as a mole this major, and like that mysterious animal, strong, pugnacious, 
unscrupulous, and given to underground practices. Lizzie opened her note and 
read : — 

‘‘ ^Iadam, — Not having had the honor of hearing from you, it is fair to presume 
that you do not as yet see your way into supplying Captain Detfield with that great, 
desideratum of all men’s lives — money. I did myself the honor to point out to you, 
in the interview you were so good as to accord me, that it was not only an essential, 
but a speedy essential, to him. On the supposition that you have no scheme in hand 
for his relief at present, would you undertake to persuade him to accept the accom- 
panying invitation ? It can do him no harm ; it may benefit him considerably. 

“ Trusting that you will abstain from mentioning my name at present in this 
matter, 

“ I have the honor to be, 

“ Your obliged and obedient seiwant, 

“Claxby Jenkens. 

“6 Charles street, Berkeley square.” 

“Well,” mused Mrs. Paynter, “ no harm can come of his accepting an invitation 
to a — , what is it ? Let me see,” and Lizzie took up the accompanying card. “ ‘ The 
Misses Stanbuiys at home. Dancing at nine. Losencath House, Barnsbury park, 
Islington.’ This is getting mysterious. Who ever would have dreamed of seeking an 
heiress out Islington way ? Yes ; Charlie must go. Bight or wrong, we must inves- 
tigate this. 1 am getting horribly curious to have a look at this daughter of ingots. 
Cliarlic can’t come to grief in attending a dance, I think ; but, to make all tilings safe. 
I’ll attend it too. I’ll take very good care that he don’t propose that night, at all 
events. Impudent thing ! — perhaps she’ll ask him. Well, if she docs. I’ll undertake 
he says no. Oh dear ! this will be tremendous fun. Who ever heard of a woman 
chaperoning an admirer before ? — and that’s what I intend to do. Now for my friend 
the major. I dare say he thinks I shall commit myself, more or less ; but he’ll be mis- 


Good Counsel. 


61 


taken ; ” and then Lizzie laughed, and, sitting down at her desk, politely informed 
[Major Jenkens that she regretted she could be of no assistance to him in this matter. 
“ Had I been fortunate enough myself to receive a card for the Misses Stanburys’ 
dance, I might, perhaps, have asked Captain Dctfield to accompany us ; but as things 
are, I am sorry to say I can render you no help whatever.” 

“ A clever woman,” muttered the major, when he received this note, and deter- 
mined to see, evidently. Now I’d rather she didn’t, for, from what Roxby tells me, 
Miss Stanbury’s a trifle too good-looking to enlist her sympathies. Well, it cuts both 
ways ; if it makes it more difficult with Mrs. Paynter, it’ll smooth matters with the 
captain. Hum — yes, by Jove! I’ve an idea. I don’t know, madam, but I think 
Claxby Jenkens may prove just one too many for you all the same ; ” and the major 
chuckled to himself with considerable gusto, as he enclosed a card for the Poseneath 
dance to his fair but dubious ally. 

Of course, Mrs. Paynter felt pretty well assured that this would come. The next 
thing to be done was to entrap the unconscious victim. “ Not much difficulty about 
it,” thinks Lizzie. If he doesn’t turn up for afternoon tea to-day, he will to-morrow, 
most probably.” 

Charlie is pretty regular in his devotion, and seldom allows two days to pass 
without doing homage at the tea-table of his fair enchantress. As Mrs. Paynter 
anticipated, a little after five Captain Hetfield is ushered into her cosey drawing-room, 
and, having made his salutations, proceeds to establish himself in an arm-chair near 
the fire that he particularly affects. 

Yes ; you will do there very nicely,” remarked Lizzie, laughing. I have 
noticed that when you are installed in that seat you are usually too lazy to get out of 
it, unless either force of circumstances or peremptory commands impel you to the 
effort.” 

It is a very comfortable chair ; and you know, lady fair, that I am never so happy 
as when basking in the sunshine of your presence.” 

“ Ah, well ! you are at liberty to bask for a little, because, you see, I have some- 
thing to say to you. Will you come with us to a dance Friday rveek ? ” 

‘‘ Only too charmed to attend any festival in your society, as, however dreary such 
festival may ultimately turn out, I, at least, shall be safe,” replied Charlie. 

“ Very good, sir ; then we will give you some dinner here on Friday, and after- 
wards you shall accompany us to the wilds of Islington.” 

“ Islington I wffiat on earth takes you to Islington ? Deuced odd, I’ve got a card 
from some Strawberries, — no, — Cranberries, to a dance up that way.” 

Stanburys you mean ; the very people.” 

“ But how did you come to know them ? ” inquired Charlie, with some little curiosity. 

“ I don’t know them as yet ; but I hope to make their acquaintance by attending 
their dance. Veiy rich people, I’m told.” 

“ I never heard of them before, and have no conception what induced them to 


62 


Two Kisses. 


honor me with an invitation. Not likely I should have troubled them, if it had not 
been for the unexpected inducement you hold out.” 

But you know you ought to go everywhere,” replied Mrs. Paynter, gravely. 

“ So I do,” laughed Charlie ; “ nobody can accuse me of playing the misanthrope.” 

Yes,” continued the lady, in serious tones. “ It is getting time you were settled. 
You know you are getting desperately hard up, Charlie. Marriage is the only thing 
to give you a fair start again ; so, of course, you must marry.” 

This from you ! ” interposed Detfield. 

Naturally, who should you expect good advice from, if not from me ? Young 
ladies of fortune require looking for ; therefore, I repeat, your duty to yourself is to 
go everywhere — ” ' 

“ And give young ladies of fortune an opportunity of selection,” retorted Charlie, 
laughing. “ Still, I never thought you would take an interest in my marriage.” 

“ A woman always takes an interest in the future of a man who has been interested 
in her,” obseiwed Mrs. Paynter, demurely. 

“ Oh ! you admit I have been that.” 

“ Yes ; will go further, and say you are still. Stop ! ” she continued, -with an im- 
perious gesture of her hand, as she saw he was about to speak. “ I don’t think you 
have ever been seriously epris with any woman. Of course, I admit your devotion to 
myself is the exception ; but I am afraid that 3*ou might manage even to get over that 
in a case of emergency.” 

“ And you are prepared to resign my homage at any moment ? ” 

“I must not think of myself,” rejoined the ladj^, plaintively. “It would be for 
3'our own good, you know.” 

Detfield paused for some minutes before he answered, gazing steadily into the fire 
meanwhile. He knew, in good truth, that this was no more than one of those butter- 
fiv liaisons in which his whole life had been passed ; but it was a blow to his self-love 
to think that his devotion could be resigned so lightly. It was the first time he haa 
encountered a woman so completel}" of his own calibre ; a more thorough practi- 
tioner, indeed, in the science of flirtation than himself; a clever woman, too, whom 
he felt read him at sight. Still he had flattered himself that she would be wroth, at 
all events, at the bare idea of his seceding from his post of cavaliere servenie — and 
j'ot she herself was coolly recommending that he should many. ^Yomen don’t do that 
if their feelings are much involved, Charlie knew full well. He was not anxious, per- 
haps, that Lizzie should arrive at that point regarding him. He had more than once 
encoui:^tered the difficulties of too exigeante a passion, and was aware that a woman’s 
jealousy may ruffle the rose-leaves of life considerably. If you embark in illicit 
flirtation, j^ou must encounter these experiences. Still he was not prepared to submit 
quietly to curt dismissal. 

“ I don’t know about my own good at all,” he replied, at length, somewhat brusquely. 
“ It would seem that you, at all events, wish to get rid of me.” 

She had been studying his face keenly". She had guessed pretty well what wa.‘ 


To Wed or Not to Wed. 


63 


running through his mind, but she was bent on canying out her whim. She had no 
thought as yet of aiding the major’s scheme, further than that she would satisfy her 
own curiosity, and see this girl it was proposed should be Detfield’s bride. 

“Unjust! unjust!” she murmured. “You’re all alike, you always are. AVhen 
we stifle our own feelings in order to honestly serve you, then you call us heartless, 
callous flirts.” 

“ I did not say that,” replied Charlie, quickly. 

“ As if it was necessaiy to be rude enough to say so,” retorted Lizzie, petulantly ; 
“ as if a glance, a gesture, could not insinuate such meaning to any woman not abso- 
lutely a fool ; as if. Captain Detficld, you had not, in your own mind, accused me of 
being all three during the last few minutes,” concluded Mrs. Paynter, defiantly. 

lie knew that it was so, and rejoined, somewhat coolly ; — 

“ Your alarming interest concerning my marriage naturally led me to think that 
you wished to be rid of me.” 

“ Don’t be foolish,” she broke in, quicidy. “ I only wish to extricate you from your 
involvements; and even then, mind, I shall withhold my permission, unless she 
possesses one most necessaiy qualification.” 

“ And that is ? ” 

“Being tolerably plain,” retorted Lizzie, laughing. “I don’t want you to be able 
to break my chains altogether, you see. And now we are friends again, are we not ? 
And you will come with us to this dance on Friday next ? ” 

“ Certainly, if you wish it ; though what has put it into your head to conspire to 
marry me to a Gorgon, I can’t conceive,” remarked Charlie, rising. 

“ Your creditors, of course,” retorted Mrs. Paynter, laughing ; “ but it’s not so bad 
as that. I only insist on some one who shall not eclipse me. But I may make my 
mind easy. Wealth and beauty are not often found awaiting a wooer, and when they 
arc — well, they expect a good deal in exchange. Good-by ! ” 

“ It seems to be growing on the community, generally, that I am to many an 
El Dorado,” mused Charlie, as he walk(?d leisurely homewards. “Well, as the 
public seem to have taken my case up, I shall leave the public to settle that anange- 
ment if they can. Personally, I decline to interfere with inevitable destiny in that 
fashion. I have remarked that some of those I know have not become particularly 
light-hearted after achieving it ; not so cheery by half as they were in their old days 
of chronic insolvency.” 

CHAPTER XII. 

TO WED OR NOT TO WED. 

To vanish from the world we live in ! — a thing at once so easy, so difficult of achieve- 
ment. I am speaking of disappearance from that narrow circle which constitutes the 
world to most of us, not of leaving this terrestial globe of ours for the unknown land 


64 


Two Kisses. 


that lies beyontl. You shall try to be lost to all whom you have hitherto known ; to 
cast behind you, to bury in oblivion, the life you have hitherto led. You shall take 
incredible precautions to leave no trace of where you have betaken yourself, and 
before six weeks are over some one or other of the most obnoxious of your ac(piaint- 
ance has stumbled upon your retreat and published it far and wide. Your motive for 
such retirement matters not. Whether you had a poem to complete, a great scientific 
discovery to work out ; wdiethcr you had quarrelled with your wife, could no longer 
hit it otT with your creditors, or were simply bored, — veritably sick of the old jog-trot 
circle in wdiich you happen to move, — the fact remains the same; you wished to be 
lost and you failed utterly. 

Again you shall depart from your home openly and avoAvedly for three days. 
Chance or caprice shall lead you to extend your holiday to six >veeks. You shall take 
no care in the world to conceal your movements. You are simply too lazy to 
communicate with your friends, and you have vanished utterly from the knowledge 
of your own circle. Advertisements in the “ Times,” keen-eyed policemen dragging 
water where you are not, even the famous Pollaky himself, one and all are useless. 
Xot a trace, not a sign, not a rumor of you, till you once more cross the domestic 
door-sill and send the wife of your bosom into hysterics. 

Why is this ? How is it that it would seem so much easier to disappear without 
taking precaution against being tracked, than when we seek to obliterate our foot- 
steps ? It is singular, Mr. Bauer, who went to Eiiston square with his portmanteau 
in broad daylight, telegraphing to his business friends in Manchester to advise them of 
his coming, is as completely lost as if the earth had opened and swallowed him ; as 
indeed perhaps it may have done. On the other hand, those splendid criminals, the 
Bidwclls, in spite of precautions, most elaborate plans, long before devised and care- 
fully considered, fell one and all in the course of a few Aveeks into the hands of the 
hunters. Over-anxiety to succeed is constantly fatal to success ; too great elaboration 
has marred many a promising conception, and it may be that such excessive care to 
leave no trace behind is the very thing that brings detection, that gives the clue so 
laboriously sought to be destroyed. 

Major Claxby Jenkens had anticipated little difficulty in discovering jNIr. Ilems- 
Avorth’s retreat, after reading that letter from his correspondent in Paris. The major 
had reasons of his OAvn for Avishing to knoAV Avhat had become of the AvidoAV, and never 
dreamed but such Avould be a very simple matter. To a man of his business habits 
and somcAvhat dubious pursuits the putting the necessary machinery in motion was 
veiy simple. He kncAV Avhere to make inquiries in numberless channels, that it is 
not given to most people to be acquainted Avith ; Avhcrc to lay his hand on all sorts 
of agents that the Avorld generally wotted not of. He had no trouble at all in finding 
out that she had left Paris for England, in ascertaining the A'cry boat in Avhich she 
had crossed the channel, and that she hatl taken a through ticket for London. But 
there all trace of her Avas lost. The huge city had swalloAved her up, and beyond that 
the major could not get. 


To Wed or Not to Wed. 


65 


It puzzled him this. 

‘‘ What reason could she have for concealment ? ” argued the major, putting the 
case hypothetically to himself, one morning, in his office. Clearly none — at least, 
that I can imagine,” he subjoined with habitual caution, “ because one never can be 
sure what maggot may not have entered a woman’s brain. She certainly took no 
trouble to conceal her movements, as, again, why should she ? Left Paris suddenly, 
— well, after the utter smash consequent upon her husband’s death, that was very 
natural. But why did she come to England ? That I can’t understand. Herjdisap- 
pearance here, I take it, is a matter of accident, not design. She’s probably in Lon- 
don this moment, and a more difficult place to find any one you may want there 
doesn’t happen to be in the universal globe. I don’t think they’d find me in Lon- 
don,” mused the major, with a pleasant smile,” if ever I should take a fancy to turn 
hermit. ' But this won’t do. The logic of the case is what I must attend to. Of 
course, I might advertise ; but that’s clumsy, very ; ” and the major shook his head 
deprecatingl}^, as if the suggestion had come from some neophyte in the science of 
doing your “ duty towards your neighbor.” No ! who on earth would she be likely 
to communicate with in this country ? that is the question. — She might, — yes, by Jove ! 
she 'might, — no, that’s not probable, either; at all events, I could soon ascertain that. 
Stop! Doesn’t Bayner say that he understands an English barrister had a good 
deal to do with the winding up of her affairs ? Where’s the letter ? ” and the major 
turned sharply to his desk. 

Little trouble had'he in finding the letter he sought, amid those regular, carefully 
labelled pigeon-holes. A man, this, of methodical, orderly habits, docketing his 
very invitations to dinner. 

“ Yes, I thought so; but Bayner does not mention his name. Don’t know it, per- 
haps. Still, if he was arranging her affairs, there must be plenty of Mark Hems- 
w'orth’s creditors who do ; there can be little difficulty about getting at that. I will 
write to Bayner to-day, and tell him to ascertain all he can, and let me know as 
quickly as possible. That affair’s disposed of for the present. Now for the other ; ” 
and the major fell into a deep reverie. 

“ Yes,” he muttered, at length, “ I think that will do if I can come to terms with 
Boxby ; that sanctimonious old sinner is harder to deal with than any other man I ever 
came across yet. There are not many men who can say they’ve had the best of 
Claxby Jenkens since he cut his wisdom-teeth, but he happens to be one of them. 
No, if we are to be partners this time. I’ll have my fair half of the stakes, or throw 
up my hand before the game’s played out. I’ve put it all in training and hold the 
strings ; but the puppets shan’t dance, my dear Boxby, until you have thoroughly sat- 
isfied me. Y’'ou’re a most excellent man, a man, no doubt, held in high esteem by 
your neighbors,” continued the major, with a low chuckle ; but jmur neighbors don’t 
know you quite so well as I do. I could imagine you taking just a ‘ lectio ’ advantage 
of an old friend, if you saw jmur way. It will be my business to put temptation out 
of your reach. Yes, my dear Boxby, I’ll tie 3'ou up prett}" tight this time, you ma}*- 


66 


Two Kisses. 


rest assured ; ” and the major’s eyes glittered with a brightness suggestive of spec- 
tacles being a most unnecessary adjunct to their capacity for looking into things. 

“ As for Captain Detfield,” continued the major, still pursuing his vein of thought, 
“ he is much too deep in the hands of the money-lenders to refuse to do what he is 
bidden. It is not putting anything unpalatable to him, when you simply require him 
to marry a pretty girl with a fortune, and so discharge his liabilities. I can only say 
if he does give trouble, he’ll find it unpleasant ; ” and the major’s lips tightened in an 
ominous way, as he reflected on the possibility of contumacy on the part of Charlie 
Detfield. “ It’s dangerous working with such an uncertain ally as Mrs. Paynter, no 
doubt ; but, bah ! you must risk something. My interview the other day told me two 
things : first, that her regard for Detfield was one of those illusive passions which 
women take up, as they do a new fashion ; secondly, that the excitement of intrigue 
is the dominant force in her character. I intend to gratify it. I could hardly have 
managed Detfield cleverly at this stage of the business without assistance. The next 
thing will be to hoodwink her, or else she will spoil my game, probably. She’s a 
clever woman, but I flatter myself when she drives home from Roseneath House next 
Friday, she will be committed to a little conspiracy which she will be far from 
comprehending. Might be awkward, indeed, if she did understand it prematurely,” 
thought the major. 

But while Major Jenkens is making such strenuous search for Mrs. Ilemsworth, 
comfortably located, as we know, within a mile of him, Montague Gore is also straining 
every nerve to trace the antecedents of Mark Ilemsworth. It is curious these two 
men have never met, although they have more than one mutual acquaintance, and 
yet at the present moment, each is in possession of the information for which the 
other is so diligently seeking. Such things occur more often in life than would be 
credited. Have you never anxiously sought for information in every direction, and 
finally discovered that the most unlikely man of your acquaintance was perlcctl}’- 
competent to tell you all that you wanted to know ? Have you ever spent (lays 
searching for a quotation that has caught your fancy, and after ransacking all likely 
writers in vain, suddenly met it again in some newspaper or periodical, with the name 
of the author tacked comfortably to it ? There are some people whom you can never 
move without meeting, Piccadilly or Palmyra, Ascot Heath or the Arctic seas, you 
know you are certain to come across them. There are others you hear about all your 
life, and never see. All your friends know them. You are continually leaving a 
house forty-eight hours before their arrival, or arriving forty-eight hours after their 
departure. You have been asked to meet them time after time, in all sorts of ways ; 
but you have never met. It has looked a certainty very often that you would do so, 
but somehow it has never come to pass. If you are of a reflective turn of mind you 
know now that it never will. Your kismet is written, and among other things, it is 
preordained that you and they shall never clasp palms. 

Montague Gore has made but slight way in his inquiries as yet. Cissy can give 
him no information as to what part of England her husband had belonged to. She 


To Wed or Not to Wed. 


67 


knew, indeed, nothing of his life previous to their marriage. Mark Hemsworth had 
treated her always as a mere child ; whether she were in favor or disgrace, it made no 
difference. She was to him not a wife, but a plaything. When he was in good 
humor he would lavish jewels and laces upon her. When things crossed him he 
would spare neither gibe nor jeer at her expense. In spite of its outward liixuiy 
Cissy’s life had been no bed of roses. In all that gorgeous glitter in which her last 
live years had been passed there had been a cynieal worltUiness that had often 
repelled her. She had craved, as women always will, for sympathy of some sort. 
She had made no friend in all that time to whom she could speak unreservedly — 
there was no one of her own sex to whom she could open out her heart. Frank as 
she was in manner, yet hers was one of those self-contained natures that keep their 
feelings under control, and show but rarely the inner springs that move them. They 
yield not their confidence lightly, and make no parade of such sorrows as may befall 
them. It was partly the isolation of her lot, and Mrs. Paynter’s caressing manner 
that had attracted her towards that lady, when she first made her acquaintance in 
Paris. Then, too, Lizzie was English, and that had some influence over her; for in 
the set in which Cissy habitually lived, English ladies were not much wont to mingle. 
If the society in which she mixed was wealthy, it savored very much of the Bourse, 
and rather lacked refinement. It had taught her in five years two things : to dress 
and to spend money; a University education in our own country produces at times 
no more definite results. 

It was a good deal to the credit of Cissy’s natural disposition that it had taught 
her to do no worse.' Quite possible to have come out of such an ordeal vicious, 
instead of merely frivolous. Cissy regarded life, at present, as a scene in which it 
was incumbent upon her to be always well-dressed and well-mannered. She fears 
ennui at twenty-two considei'ably more than she does destitution, and this in the cir- 
cumstances in which we know she is placed ; and yet this woman is not a fool. But 
she has never known so far what it is to have to think about money, and is as calmly 
convinced that some one will marry her and spare her all trouble on that head, as if 
she were already affianced to a millionnaire. 

Ilemember, she married as a portiontcss girl, without the slightest difficulty ; that* 
she has been feted all her life ; that she has been accustomed to hear of large sums 
made daily by those with whom she associated ; that she has constantly seen her hus- 
band’s reckless speculating friends choose for their brides, pretty, dowerless girls, and 
the thing becomes not altogether so unnatural as it at first sounds. Cissy, judging 
by the lights of her own world, thinks that the acquirement of riches is a very easy 
and every-day affixir. She would, perhaps, sura up her ideas in this fashion : that 
when a man wants mone}’’, he goes into business and makes it.” The going forth in 
search of wool and coming home shorn is a phase of commercial transactions of which 
she has no experience. The free lances of the Stock Exchange, like “the plungers” 
of the turf, are jubilant in their hour of triumph, but mute when the battle goes 


68 


Two Kisses. 


against them for the most part. It is the men, too, whe are always lamenting their 
losses that wax rich steadily. 

Montague Gore is busily engaged in trying to trace out Mark Ilemsworth’s 
family in England. This he thinks is the first thing to be done, in order to clear up 
that doubtful point, as to whether Cissy ever had a marriage settlement. Evidently 
no trace of such a settlement is to be got out of all that Paris tangle ; nothing, indeed, 
to warrant such a notion, but that one memorandum of the dead man’s. What irri- 
tates him and troubles him considerably is Cissy’s resolute refusal to tell him her 
ftither’s name. Where he may be, she admits she has no conception ; but that he 
could determine this matter stands to reason. What can be her object in dechning to 
tell his name ? lie has pressed this more than • once, pointed out that it is so obvi- 
ously the most direct way to get at what they want. But Cissy is inflexible. She 
has her reasons, she says ; is very grateful for what he has already done, but help him 
in that way she cannot. If that is a necessity, if he secs no other way of arriving at 
the truth save by that channel, well, then he must abandon his exertions in her behalf. 
She is very firm on this point. Equally reticent, too, concerning her early days ; of 
her life previous to entering the convent Cissy will say nothing. 

The more he looks at it from the worldly and common-sense point of view, the 
more convinced Montague Gore is of the madness of his infatuation for Cissy Ilems- 
worth. But it is not to be supposed that common sense is likely to be an antidote to the 
fatal philtre of the love-god. She is extravagant, she is half his age, and is no one 
knows who. If he marries, he should obtain either money, connection, or at least 
congenial companionship. There are fifty reasons why he should not marry Cissy ; 
there is but one why he should. lie loves her — and in the meridian of life, is that 
to be deemed valid excuse for imprudent marriage ? lie argues the case over 
and over again with himself, dwelling sternly on each objection the match as he 
recapitulates them ; but his going up to Hanover street daily is that pennyworth of 
fact which is ever worth all the theories in the world. When a man argues about 
tlie imprudence of becoming lie with a Avoman, and continues to frequent her draw- 
ing-rooms, he can bamboozle no one but himself. He ofters but another sad example 
of theoretical wisdom and practical folly. 

Still Montague Gore hesitates to speak. He has not resolution to fly temptation, 
though his eyes are open to the imprudence of what he half contemplates doing. He 
fieothes himself Avith the idea that it is necessary that he should see Mrs. IIcmsAVorth 
constantly on business ; though, considering that the Axry little she has to tell she 
eystcmatically refuses to open her lips about, and that his inquiries have as yet come 
to nothing, there does not seem much necessity for continual consultation betAveen 
them. Sometimes he Avonders Avhat ansAver Cissy Avould make to him. He has the 
field all to himself, Avhich is something, and she always AA'cleoraes hiniAvarmly, it is true ; 
but Montague Gore cannot as yet flatter himself that Cissy’s feelings are involved, as 
far as he is concerned. Her bright smile, frank, out-stretched hand, and soft A^oice 
greet him Avith evident pleasure Avhenever he calls ; but the voice never filters, the 


69 


The Ball at Roseneath House. 

cheek never changes, the hand never trembles. Montague Gore read aright, when 
he deemed Cissy’s heart still in her own keeping. 

CHAPTER Xin. 

THE BALL AT ROSENEATH HOUSE. 

“ Time treads o’er the graves of affection; 

Sweet honey is turned into gall; 

Perhaps you have no recollection 

That ever you danced at our hall.” 

PosENExVTH House is a blaze of light, and a perfect grove of evergreens. Once 
Miss Matilda had made up her mind that a dance should be, and she was just the 
woman to throw herself heart and soul into it. An energetic woman, not liking to 
be thrown out of her groove to start with, but that difficulty once overcome, one who 
determined that what she undertook should be carried out thoroughly. Bessie’s 
trustee, Mr. Roxby, a great authority with her, had pronounced strongly in favor of 
the dance when consulted. That Mr. Roxby had his own ends to serve we know, but 
of course Miss Stansbury did not. He said it was only right that his ward should see 
a little more of the world, and hinted that it was Bessie’s aunts who should afford her 
some opportunity of doing so. 

Mr. Roxby’s word was law with Miss Matilda. His verdict being for a ball. Miss 
Stansbury made up her mind that Roseneath House should entertain on a grand scale, 
and led her sister and Bessie a troublous time of it. And yet they enjoyed it 
thoroughly. Although' the preparations involved, as Bessie had laughingly predicted, 
picnicing at uncertain hours, bivouacking on staircases, and all those attendant sor- 
rows inseparable from small establishments when they plunge into large entertain- 
ments, still Miss Matilda was in great force. She quite harried Aunt Clem and Bessie, 
indeed, in her ceaseless supervision, making those two originators of the affair race 
up and down stairs till they declared they could do so no longer ; dashing into 4;heir 
bedrooms, at untimely hours, with new conceptions, and accusing them of laziness 
and lukewarmness concerning the whole thing, in a way that made Bessie declare she 
knew Aunt Matilda looked forward to dancing all night. 

When you have inlinite wealth at j^our disposal, you simply say : Let there be a 
^ball, and there is a ball.” But to smaller people, a ball involves much thought, ma- 
nipulation, worry and upsetting of the establishment. However, the ball at Roseneath 
House is now a fact accomplished. The lamps are lit, the floors are swept, the band is 
tuning its instruments, and the hostesses, clad in silks and satins, are awaiting their 
guests. 

There is a considerable difference in the age and appearance of the spinsters. Aunt 


70 


Two Kisses. 


Matilda, turned of forty, and arraj^ed in stately lace and velvet, awaits the coming of 
the multitude with serene composure. Aunt Clem, a good half-dozen years her junior, 
is dressed more youthfully, in satin, and exhibits some tremor and nervousness. Aunt 
Clem does not consider her dancing days over as yet — has, perhaps, indeed, a still lurk- 
ing idea that she has not yet passed the marriageable age, and who shall say what to- 
night may bring forth. Indeed, she carries her years well, and might pass easily for 
somewhat less than she actually is, — a pleasant, fair face, with kindly, honest, blue eyes 
shining out of it. A middle-aged man might do worse than ask Aunt Clem to tread 
life’s path with him. But then, middle-aged men have always a tendency to select a 
bride from the juvenile ranks, — a mistake usually paid for on one side or the other. 

As for Bessie, arrayed in a cloud of wdiite tarlatan, trimmed with forget-me-nots 
and rosebuds, only an art-critic or a misogynist 'would deny her title to be called a 
pretty girl to-night. But now begins the rumbling of wheels, and the faint rustling 
in the hall that heralds the arrival of the guests. Foremost among these is Mr. 
Iloxby, a tall, pompous man, Avith an amount of starched neckcloth round his throat 
that nothing but an unusually long neck enables him to look over, exhibiting a most 
capacious Avhite waistcoat and voluminous shirt-front, Avith an air of paternal conde- 
scension. lie makes his obeisance in a manner that indicates he takes the Avhole 
arrangements on his shoulders from this out ; that he throAvs the aegis of his protection 
over the house for the night ; shakes hands Avith the elder Misses Stanbury Avith lofty 
patronage, and touches Bessie’s cheek Avith his lips, as if he did her much honor by 
so doing. Ilis Avhole manner indicates that really this is a frivolous alfair, in Avhich 
he rather protests against being mixed up, but to oblige his old friends he Avill see 
that it goes off satisfactorily. 

Mr. Iloxby is a man of eminent respectability, — AA^hat men of the Avorld sometimes 
call rather too respectable, having recollections of Avhat dreadful backslidings such 
extreme respectability is occasionally convicted of. Mr. Iloxby had started in life in 
a \"ery humble Avay; he Avas not clever by any means. He had achieved success 
simply because he Avas so plausible and so respectable, and, though it Avould astonish 
his admirers considerably to learn it, so unscrupulous. Divested of his Avhite Avaist- 
coat and paternal manner Mr. Roxby Avas a fraudulent humbug. He had never 
scrupled to turn money over any transaction tliat passed through his hands. He Avas 
]ust one of those men Avlioni people are so fond of picking out as executor, trustee, 
arbiter, etc. Iloxby had been continually liguring in one or other of these capacities 
all his life, stood indeed, at this present moment, as trustee to half-a-dozen different 
people. He generally contrived that all such appointments should conduce more or 
less to his advantage. Not that he ever made aAvay Avith moneys that did not belong 
to him, he is- too cautious for that; but he did usually contrive to have very tidy pick- 
ings out of such business as necessarily passed through his lingers. 

Mr. Iloxby, in pursuance of that unspoken pledge AA'hich had marked his greeting, 
takes up his position by Miss Stanbury, and proceeds to assist in the reception of the 
guests. So benignantly patronizing is he in that situation, that the strange element 


The Ball at Roseneatk House. 


71 


which always turns up at a London dance, entertain no manner of doubt but that he 
is the master of the house, and do salutation according!}’-. Even some of his friends 
who know the exact state of the case cannot refrain from complimenting Mr. Eoxby 
on the tasteful arrangements, so completely has he taken the house under the pro- 
tection of his capacious white waistcoat. Several invitations have indeed been sent 
out at his suggestion, and he has further been furnished at his own request with a few 
blank cards. 

Among the early arrivals is Major Claxby Jenkens. The indefatigable major 
deems that the little drama he contemplates will need his immediate supeiwision. 

The major is not wont to leave any affair, that he may take up, in other hands than 
his own more than is absolutely necessary. This, he considers, requires delicate 
manipulation, and, with the distrust he entertains of Eoxby, it is not likely that he 
will take him into his confidence one iota more than he is obliged. The major’s idea 
is simply to throw Detfield and Miss Bessie together, and trust in the first instance to 
the girl’s making a favorable impression, lie has arrived at a pretty correct notion 
concerning Detfield’s liaison with Mrs. Paynter, and deems that a fresh face might 
easily extinguish that flirtation, providing Lizzie is not aroused into active opposition 
by jealousy of her rival. He is quite aware that her influence, at present, would be 
sufficient to hold Detfield to his allegiance, if she chose to exert it. But the major is 
a born intriguant. iSuch finessing as he contemplates affords him much amusement, 
and he is rather looking forward to his match with Mrs. Paynter than otherwise. 

He enters quietly, his keen, restless eyes veiled beneath his delicately gold-rimmed 
spectacles, and says, “ How d’ye do ? ” to Eoxby, wdio presents him to his hostess and 
their niece. The major pays a few well-turned compliments to the elder ladies, 
studying Aunt Clem with considerable attention ; then he glances at Bessie, threading 
the entanglements of the Lancers. “ A very pretty, graceful girl,” he mutters, “ and 
the aunt quite passable, and young enough for my purpose ; two honors in my hand 
the first shuffle of the cards,” and the major, rubbing his hands softly, said, “he 
should like just a word with Mr. Eoxby.” 

“ What is it, my dear friend ? ” inquired the latter, as they drew a little on one side. 
“Be as quick as you can, please, as I am pledged to assist the Miss Stanburys in 
receiving their guests.” 

“One word only. Don’t interfere with my proceeding in any way, and don’t allow 
Mrs. Paynter to talk with the Miss Stanburys in the first instance. I think I see our 
way pretty clearly. You and I will talk things over later.” 

Bestowing on the major a smiling nod of acquiescence, which almost amounted to 
a benediction, Mr. Eoxby once more resumed his post near Miss Matilda. He had 
received his cue, and knew now that it behoved him to take charge of Mrs. Paynter 
as soon as she should arrive. 

Lizzie’s entrance made rather a sensation. Not only was she a very striking 
woman anywhere, but her toilet, ahvays in the extreme of fashion, was calculated 
to somewhat dazzle Islington in its magnificence. Mrs. Paynter piqued herself on 


72 


Tivo Kisses. 


dressing from Paris direct. “Just a season ahead of London,” she was wont to 
observe to her intimates. “ You will all be wearing next year what I do this.” 

VvJicthcr she was right in such prophecy I can’t say ; but certain it was that Lizzie 
was always somewhat original in her dress, and, being gifted with excellent taste, 
never relapsed into the vulgarism of being outre as well as original. Mr. Roxby 
received her with easy assurance, and having presented her to Miss Matilda, — Aunt 
Clem being, by this, involved in a quadrille, — offered his arm for a tour of tlic rooms. 
Mrs. Paynter was gracious in the extreme, admired everything and everybody, and 
honestly thought the decorations very pretty. Still this was not precisely what Mrs. 
Paynter had come out to Islington to sec, and her eyes rolled somewhat restlessly 
round in search of the mysterious Major Jenkens. 

That worthy was by no means idle. He had marked her entrance, but pui’poscly 
avoided her notice. No sooner had he seen her move off, under Poxby’s escort, than 
he pounced upon Charlie Detfield, and proposed to find him partners. Though out 
of his clement, Charlie was quite ready to plunge into the festivities of the occasion, 
and at once yielded to the solicitations of the major. 

“ Of course you won’t mind going through a quadrille wdth one of the ladies of the 
house, to begin with ? ” suggested that astute veteran; “ and then I’ll find you metal 
more attractive. There are plenty of good-looking girls here to-night ; ” and, before 
Charlie had further time for reflection, he found himself standing up with Aunt Clem. 

That satisfactorily arranged, the major hurried off in search of Mrs. Paynter. He 
found that lively lady already getting very tired of Mr. Poxby’s ponderous conversa- 
tion, and was greeted ■with a most gracious smile of recognition. 

Dismissing her former escort with a slight bow, Mrs. Paynter took the major’s arm, 
and without further preface said ; — 

“ Of course I expected to meet you here to-night, and equally, of course, I expect 
to have this bride you have selected amongst you for Captain Detfield, pointed out 
to me.” 

“ I feel honored by the confidence you repose in me,” observed the major, “ and 
have to thank you for bringing him.” 

“ Enough, sir ; now for the lady. It was quite as much to gratify my own curi- 
osity as anything else that I interfered in your behalf. You owe me but little 
gratitude.” 

I^izzie felt a little angry with herself at having yielded to the persuasion of such 
an utter stranger ; but the temptation of seeing this heiress with her own eyes had 
proved irresistible. 

“ If you will step into the next room, I can point her out to you at once,” rejoined 
the major. “ Captain Detfield is dancing with her now.” 

“ And does he know that she is his intended bride ? ” 

“ ;Most certainly not, and I must throw myself upon your mercy not to divulge a 
hint of any such arrangement being in contemplation. It may probably all end in 


The Ball at Roseneath House. 


73 


notKing, and as the lady is as ignorant of the design as Captain Detfield, it is only 
fair to her to keep it a secret. I may rely upon your silence, may I not ? ” 

“ Let me see her,” replied Lizzie, curtly. 

As she spoke they entered the adjoining room, and Mrs. Paynter beheld Charlie 
gayly laughing and talking with Aunt Clem. 

“ And that is the lady ? ” 

“ That is Miss Stanbury,” replied the major, diplomatically. 

Why, she’s much too old for him ! She’s live -and- thirty if she’s a day,” rejoined 
Mrs. Paynter, sharply. 

You hardly do her justice, madam. Turned of thirty, say. But what would you 
have ? — you can’t have everjdhing.” 

But he is only six-and-twenty,” murmured Lizzie ; “ and has contrived to accu- 
mulate any amount of debt in that period.” 

“What are four or live years between them?” exclaimed the major. “More 
especially when the lady brings as man}^housands as years to the wedding.” 

“ That may be ; but that match will never take place.” 

“ Probably not, if you exercise your influence to prevent it,” rejoined the major, 
with considerable intention, and stealing a keen glance beneath his spectacles at his 
companion. 

“ I shall interfere neither for nor against it, sir,” retorted Mrs. Paynter, haughtily. 
“ Captain Detfield’s matrimonial arrangements are nothing to me.” 

“ But I may rely on your silence concerning such an idea ? ” 

“Yes;” and now the quadrille being over, and Aunt Clem satisfactorily disposed 
of, Mrs. Paynter signalled Charlie with her fan, and prepared to indemnify herself for 
her researches on his behalf by a galop. 

There is no denying that it is a very lively ball, with a swing and go in it that many 
a West-end dance might envy. As for Charlie, he has plunged into the whole thing 
con amove, and, though he has done a good deal of waltzing with Mrs. Paynter, has 
by no means restricted himself to one partner. The major has been very attentive to 
^hini in that respect, and he now finds himself whirling round the rooni with Bessie. 
The girl dearly loved dancing, and made no scruple about showing it. Detfield, as 
may be supposed, was a good performer, and could not help smiling at the frank 
manner in which she expressed her gratification. Faster and faster goes the music 
, of that galop finale, only the most reckless dancers can keep pace with its flying time, 
when it suddenly ends with a tumultuous crash of brazen instruments, and the hot 
and thirsty guests troop downstairs to supper. 

“ There, Miss Staubury, I think we shall do here,”'said Charlie, as he ensconced his 
partner in a snug corner behind the door of the supper-room. “ The only thing that 
weighs upon my mind is, whether, as the young lady of the house, you are justified in 
submitting to so lowly a situation. Only say the word, though, and we will gain the 
head of the table, or perish in the attempt.” ^ 


74 


Two Kisses. 


“ Oil, no,” laughed Bessie, “ I am quite content as I am, and will leave such honor 
to my grave and reverend seniors.” 

“ I quite agree with you. One’s chicken and champagne is best consumed in shade 
and tranquillity. I always pity royalty, because quiet corners are things known to 
them only by hearsay.” 

“ And you go to all the court balls, I suppose,” inquired Bessie, who having dis- 
covered that her partner was a guardsman, looked upon him as moving with the hHU 
of the land. 

“ I enjoy that privilege sometimes when on duty,” replied Charlie, much amused. 

“ That is one of the sights I should like to see ; but unfortunately there are so many 
things I want to see, and apparently may want to the end of the chapter.” 

“ 1 don’t think you need be despondent at your age,” rejoined Dettield, laughing, 

“ you’ve plenty of time before you.” 

“ Oh, yes ! and I’m not in the least despondent,” replied Bessie, merrily. “ I dare say 
I shall have lots of fun, if I never see half the things I want to. Next to riding I love 
dancing, and I shall manage to get my share of those two amusements, at all events.” 

Do you ride often then ? ” 

“Yes, nearly every day. There are plenty of pleasant rides out Hampstead way, 
and a good canter I do think beats a good valse.” 

“ Don’t you ever ride in the park ? ” 

“ Very seldom. I have no one to go with, and it is not nice riding there with only 
a groom. People look at you, as much as to ask who on earth you belong to. I tried 
it tv, 'ice, but don’t think 1 shall repeat the experiment.” 

“ But isn’t it rather dull work riding alone ? ” 

“ Oh dear, no! Velvet — that’s my marc — and I get on capitally together. You 
see there is one advantage, 1 can go my own pace, — pelt along when I’m in spirits, or 
walk soberly when I want to think. Don’t you look upon horsebacl^as a famous place 
for reflection. Captain Detfield ? ” 

“ No, I can’t say I do ; but then you see my experiences arc so ditferent from yours. 
When I ride in town, it is usually with other people, and I am engaged in conversa- 
tion. When I ride in the country, it is usually to hounds, and then all my energies 
arc absorbed in beating somebody else, striving to make up for a bad start, wondering 
wliethcr my horse will last another ten minutes, if it’s a cracker, or some equally 
important problem. Ah I you may laugh. Miss Stanbury, but all the points I have , 
mentioned are subjects of stupendous gravity to a man when hounds are running.” 

“ No, nothing more, thank you,” said Bessie, as Charlie offered to replenish her 
wine-glass. “ 1 will ask you to take me upstairs now. I hear the music again.” 

Detfield complied, and begged for another dance when they rcgaineil the ball- 
room. The band was playing that very Valse de Fascination which Bessie had 
declared she I’ealiy must try that afternoon when the idea of the ball was first mooted. 
Without giving her time to consult her card, Charlie whirled his fair companion into 
the midst of the thi'ong. That first after-supper valse is always the cream of the 


The Ball at Roseneath House. 


75 


evening to those “who really love dancing, and the guardsman, perhaps, enjoyed it 
almost as much as his partner. But Bessie was speedily claimed when the music 
ceased, and, as Detfield lounged leisurely to a seat, he met Mrs Baynter. 

“ I don’t want to crush such a promising flirtation as you seem to have established 
with that pretty little thing in forget-me-nots and rose-buds ! ” exclaimed Lizzie, 
laughing ; “ but if you are disengaged for a few minutes I’ll get you to find John, and 
tell him I am ready to go. We’ll take you or not, just as you please.” 

“ I am quite at your orders, and we’ll be oft* as soon as I can find the brougham.” 

That and Mr. Paynter were quickly discovered, and a few minutes more saw the 
trio speeding rapidly westward, immersed in their own reflections. 

“ Charlie will never be brought to marry that Miss Stanbury,” mused Mrs. Paynter.* 

^‘Rather nice, that little Stanbury girl,” reflected Charlie. 

What a confounded nuisance all balls and evening parties are ! ” thought Mr. 
Paynter, in his semi-moments of consciousness. But the gods were merciful to him, 
poor man, in the main, and he slept peacefully for the most part during the homeward 
drive. Talk of peas in the shoes, what is that to the purgatory of tight boots, and 
extreme boredom, to the man who is craving for a smoking-jacket, slippers, and a 
cigar? Verily, matrimony hath its burdens, and escorting the wife of one’s bosom 
into society that pleasureth us not is, Sy no means, one of the lightest. 

But, while Mrs. Paynter’s brougham rattles gayly over the stones of the Euston 
road, while the band pours out its most spirit-stirring melodies, two gentlemen are 
engaged in earnest conference in the well-nigh deserted supper-room. 

“ 1 have put the whole thing fairly in train,” observed the major, helping himself to 
a glass of champagne; “all I ask is that you don’t interfere, but let me pull the 
strings. The number of marriages that come to nothing annually, because one or 
other, or both, of the innocent victims suddenly discover that they are being thrown 
together with intention, is inconceivable.” 

“ My dear major, I have the most perfect reliance on your tact and discretion,” 
replied Roxby, in unctuous tones. “ What Claxby Jenkens undertakes to do every 
one knows is as good as done.” 

“Hum! what Claxby Jenkens undertakes to do, my friend, has generally some 
reference to his own interest. Let us waste no time beating about the bush, but 
come to the point at once. What benefit am I to derive from this match ? ” 

“ The gratification, my dear friend, of having promoted the union of two young 
people in every way suitable. I might go further and say, formed, made for one 
qnother,” replied Roxby, benignantly. 

The major grinned. The plausible scoundrel with whom he was cenversing, he 
knew, even to a confederate, never altogether dropped the hj’pocritical veil with which 
he was wont to gloss over his villanies. 

“ And what else ? ” he inquired at length. 

“ My dear Jenkens,” returned the other, “ my interest in my charming ward is so 
great that 1 would give five hundred pounds to see her happily married.” 


76 


Two Kisses. 


“ Lodged to my account at Herrics & Co.’s, the day before the wedding,” said the 
major, laconically. 

“ Dear, dear, you will have your joke,” responded Mr. Roxby, as he nodded assent. 

The major knew his man, and knew that the bargain was concluded between them, 
as well as if it had been couched in more direct language. But he wanted to know 
more. 

“ And you, what arc you to get out of this affair ? ” he continued, looking his com- 
panion steadily in the face. 

“A release from my trust in great measure, and the approval of my own con- 
science,” replied the other, with a low laugh. “ Another glass of wine, my dear 
friend. Here’s the health of the j’oung couple.” 

“ That is no answer to my question,” said the major, doggedly. 

“ If you won’t be satisfied with that, I can’t help it. But, hark you ! ” continued 
Mr. Boxby, with a sudden change of tone; “there arc plenty of young men in the 
world, besides Captain Detfield, who would be glad to take a pretty girl, with a good 
fortune, to wife, and there arc plenty of other people, besides Claxby Jenkens, who 
might be induced to lend me a hand in finding hcr'a husband. You arc clever, and, 
therefore, I make choice of you ; but, my dear major, if I find you too clever, I shall 
caU in somebody else ; have fresh advice, as the doctors say.” 

“ And suppose I tell what I know ? ” replied the major, fiercely. “ Suppose I make 
public that yoti wish to make capital of your ward’s hand ? ” 

“ I couldn’t entertain such an absurd supposition for a moment,” rejoined INIr. 
Boxby, once more relapsing into his usually bland moment. “ Bipping up old stories 
is always bad taste ; and what you and I might say to each other’s discredit would be 
pretty equally balanced. No, my friend, you’ll not do that when you think over it. 
You’ll do your utmost to promote this marriage, I’m sure ; and nobody possesses such 
tact and finesse for carrying out a delicate arrangement of the kind as my friend, 
Claxby Jenkens. But it is dry work talking, — let’s have another glass of wine. No 
more, eh ? Then let us go upstairs.” 

As the major drove home to his lodgings, he ruminated much over the events of the 
evening. lie did not feel so certain of having the best of Mr. Boxby as he had done, 
when thinking over the affair in John street. That pull over his ncighl)or, such a desid- 
eratum in the major’s eyes, was not to be obtained in this case apparently. Still the 
douceur was handsome, and the first act of the comedy had been most successfully 
brought about. 

“ I should like to know though,” muttered the major, “ what Boxby expects to get 
out of this, and how he means to get it.” 


Will You Give Me Yourself? 


If 


CHAPTER XIV. 

WILL YOU GIVE ME YOURSELF? 

To suppose that Cissy Hemsworth is blind to Gore’s admiration for herself would 
bo absurd, — a woman is never blind to that; a foolish woman will sometimes fall into 
the opposite extreme, and rate a man’s attentions higher than his z;itentions concern- 
ing her, but she rarely makes the mistake of overlooking the effect of her attractions 
on the male sex. She knows by instinct when she has achieved a success of that 
nature. But Cissy was very far from guessing what wild work her charms had 
wrought in the barrister’s heart. She little dreamed of the passion that he had con- 
ceived for her. 

Reticent by nature, reticent from professional training. Gore had so far succeeded 
in masking the tumult that filled his veins from her notice. If Cissy thought that he 
admired her, she certainly had never thought that he was likely to ask her to many 
him. Indeed, considering that she openly avowed that it was a necessity for her ta 
marry, it was surprising how very little reflection she gave concerning it. Her per- 
fect nonchalance on this point was a source of perpetual astonishment to Mrs. Paynter. 
That energetic lady could not understand it. Cissy would refuse her invitations, even 
when she came to Hanover street herself with them, and declared that she had “ some 
one who would be just the thing,” coming to dinner. 

“ I can’t help you, my dear, if you won’t help yourself,” cried Mrs. Paynter, 
wrathf Lilly, on one of these occasions. “ What is the use of my parading all the eligible 
men I can lay hands on, if you won’t come and meet them ?” 

To which Cissy replied : — 

** Don’t be angry, but I really do not feel up to going out to-day.” 

Well,” mused Mrs. Paynter, as she took her dcpai-ture, under the circumstances 
above mentioned, “ I don’t see what’s to become of her, unless she "pronounces herself 
ill, and then makes les leaux yeaux at her doctor ; how she is to arrive at a husband is 
quite beyond me. I would do m}’’ best for her if she would b\it let me, but she won’t ; 
and she is so nice, and so attractive, that she might really do well if there’s any taste 
left in mankind. Mercenary wretches ! ” continued Mrs. Paynter, with a solemn 
shake of her pretty head, “ they always mix up matrimony with money nowadays. 
.Dear old John didn’t, though, when he took me, precious bargain as I have been to 
him ; ” and a soft smile suffused her face, such as not one of her many admirers had 
ever won from her, plead as they might. 

Montague Gore, still trying to disentangle that question of the settlement, for the 
second time has it pointed out to him that there is a family of Hemsworths settled in 
Nottinghamshire. Information this from the chief constable of that county. It is 
Qurious, he was told the same quite incidentally at a dinner-party at which he happened 


78 


Two Kisses. 


to mention his quest in the very fii*st sta,2:c of his inquiries. lie made that trip down 
to Nottingham at the time of the Goose Fair, on purpose to investigate that statement, 
and he found that there had been Ilemsworths in the neighborhood, but were none 
now. 

It was odd, he had sent round a circular to all the chief constables in England, 
requesting information on the subject; and, save from Nottingham, reply there was 
none. Now it was not to be supposed that liemsw^orths grew only in Nottinghamshire. 

Gore knew this fact well. Take the most uncommon English name you will, and 
you, shall discover it in three or four different counties in England. Pick out any 
name, as striking you as peculiar, that you have never heard before, keep that name 
in your mind, and it is astonishing how often you will meet it in the next two years. 
He thought it singular that the only county from which he received a reply should 
be the only county in which he had ascertained there were no Ilemsworths. True, 
he admitted that his search had been but hurried and cursoiy. He had felt too little 
reliance on the accuracy of his information to waste much time upon it. As a bar- 
rister, he should have known better. The major would never have made such a 
mistake. In pursuing an investigation of this nature, information can only be classi- 
fied under two heads, — reliable or unreliable. If deemed the former, too much pains 
cannot be taken to sift it thoroughly ; if the latter, put it away completely at once. 
Half measures are useless. Gore was too clever a man not to know this, but the 
fact was he had interested himself in lukewarm fashion in the search to start with. 
Now it was 'difterent ; he was working in Cissy’s behalf with all the keenness and 
perseverance of a bloodhound. He thinks it necessary to go and see her upon the 
point. “ She may remember some allusion of her late husband’s to that county,” 
argues Gore, speciously, to liimself. 

When a man of mature age falls in love injudiciously, however much he may 
ponder over his imprudence, he is more likely to end in matrimony than if he were 
still young. Ways and means is a question that sometimes curbs youthful passion, 
but a man in his prime has generally achieved an income of some sort, which may 
enable him to carry the affair to a conclusion. In (lore’s case it was decidedly so. 
He was of inexpensive habits, and making a large yearly income in his profession. 

The idea of marriage had seldom crossed his brain since the terrible catastrophe 
that had ruined his life. When it had, it was to marriage of the most conventional 
kind that he had looked forw^ard. Now, he knew well that lie had cast that idea to 
the winds. He would fain wed a penniless bride, of whose antecedents he could learn 
notliing, a woman of no family ; fortunate, indeed, if she proved literally of no family, 
and that relations of the most inconvenient description should not discover themselves 
afterwards. Then, again, he Avas by no means certain that Cissy would say him yes, 
should he put his fortune to the test. Though she avowed her intention to marry, 
though he kueAV that her circumstances made it almost imperative on her to accept 
the first eligible offer she should receive, still there was that about her Avhich made 
him uncertain as to whether she might not say no to him. Cissy he could but OAvn 


Will You Give Me Yotirself? 


79 


was something of an enigma. A woman likely to face desperate straits with the' 
stoicism of an Indian, or to succumb with the passionate despair of a child. lie could 
not make up his mind about her. lie would have been in no -way surpnsed at her 
taking the failure of her scanty resources in either light. Her quiet confidence that 
something ’would turn up in her favor amazed him as much as it did Mrs. Paynter. 
What could she count on ? 

Sucli reflections brought Montague Gore to Hanover street. As his hostess 
received him with her usual frank manner, Gore thought she never looked so hand- 
some. Her bright face flashed and sparlded as he began to tell of this fresh inlbrma- 
tion, and she murmured : — 

“ How kind you are to take so much trouble in my behalf! ** 

As he continued, she listened with evident intei’^st ; but when he mentioned Not- 
tinghamshire as the probable county from which her husband sprung, she gave an 
unconcealed start of surprise. From that moment, she listened in an anxious and 
yet preoccupied manner that it was impossible should escape his notice ; interested, 
evidently, to hear what he had to tell, and yet at the same time haunted with memo- 
ries of bygone years. 

‘ ‘‘Do you Ivuow anything of Nottinghamshire yourself?” inquired Gore, in con- 
clusion. 

Cissy hesitated, and appeared troubled for a moment, as if thinking how she should 
frame her reply. 

“ I am sorry,” she said, at length, “but I can give you no answer to that question. 
It seems so ungrateful, too, after all the trouble you have been taking ; and it grieves 
me dreadfully you should think me that. Why, oh why,” she continued, passion- 
ately, “ do you not give my affairs up ? You have been so very kind to me ; and yet, 
when you are doing your'best, I have to refuse you information which, though slight 
and of little account, you have a right to demand.” 

It was the first time he had ever seen Cissy moved, and it made his pulses tingle. 
The sight of emotion in the woman we love is wont to occasion tumult in the system. 

“ I am only too glad to be of assistance to you,” he replied, in constrained tones. 
“ If I ask for information on subjects painful to you to refer to, believe me it is from 
no idle curiosity, but simply because I think it would be useful.” 

“Yes, I know it,” interposed Cissy, hurriedly. “I should be mad to think other- 
wise. But I have given my word, as I told you before, to keep silence on this past 
life of mine, and I will abide by that pledge. Don’t, pray, think that there is anything 
I have cause to conceal. If the poor history of my childhood were published at 
Charing Cross, to-morrow, there is nothing I should feel cause to blush for.” 

She had spoken with much earnestness, and the color came into her cheeks as she 
finished. She knew this man admired her. She knew that he had taken infinite pains 
and trouble in her behalf. She was thinking no whit of him as a husband or lover, 
but she was anxious to justify herself in his eyes as far as she might. She felt that 
this reticence concerning her early days told against her, was liable to be miscon- 


80 


Two Kisses. 


struecl, and she wished that Montague Gore should think well of her. She had so 
few friends that she could not allbrd to lose one lightly, and if she had no love, yet 
Cissy had great esteem for her adviser. 

His reply came at last in low. tones, swift and steady : — 

“ It is a pity that you should liave made such a promise ; hut I will not urge you to 
break it. I entertain no doubt, whatever, that there is nothing in your past would 
shame you to speak of. One thing I may say. Do you think the person to whom 
you made that pledge would not absolve you from it now ? The cireumstanecs in 
which you stand could never have been contemplated, and I am only stating my 
honest conviction, when I say that the clue I seek will be probably found, if it exist, 
in some trivial incident of the past life of yourself or your husband.” 

“I cannot see that. What could you hope to discover from my early, days?” 
intei’posed Cissy. 

“ Simply this ; if I knew with whom you lived and assoeiated in England, I should 
veiy likely get a hint as to who were likely to be trustees to any marriage settlement 
you might have, — very probably discover your father.” 

“ That is a conclusive reason for giving you no information on the subject,” cried 
Cissy, quiekly. 

“As I thought,” murmured Gore to himself. “ It is to that father she has pledged 
her silence. I w'onder what his object was in exacting that promise ? ” and (hen he 
could not help further reflecting that a father with private reasons for courting ob- 
scurity was not calculated to make Cissy more eligible as a wife. 

“ There is no more to be said, then,” he replied, at length. “ I must work out this 
affair as best I can. 

“Yes, there is more to be said,” exclaimed Cissy, with animation. “I have to 
thank you yet again, for devoting so mueh of your time tft assisting a woman who 
must appear to be throwing all the impediments she can in your way. I can’t help it. 
I counsel you to give it up. But, believe me, when I say I am truly grateful for all 
you have endeavored to do for me.” 

“ I shall not give it up. Keep your gratitude, Mrs. Ilemsworth, until I succeed ; I 
may perchance test it then. It is contrary to all rule, I know, and yet I might even 
ask some recompense at your hands, should I fail; ” and he rose as he spoke, and stood 
facing her. 

“From me ! ” said Cissy, looking up at him. “I don’t know what you could ask 
from me, I have so little to give.” 

“You have that to give which any man would prize,” returned Gore, in Ioav, 
earnest tones, his passion completely overmastering him. “You know Avhat I would 
ask. There is no need to tell you that I love you. You must have known it these 
weeks past. Cissy, will you give me yourself ? Can you trust me to take care of you 
for the rest of your life ? ” 

{She was a little astonished.^ She had not expected this, although conscious of liis 


81 


Will You Give Me Yoicrself? 

admiration. She had never taken into consideration that he might ask her to many 
him. She liked him very much, but she was not the least in love with him. 

“You have taken me by surprise,” she said, slowly. “ You offer me love instead 
of friendship. Are you sure that it is not pity for my loneliness makes you speak 
thus ? ” 

“ I know that the hope of calling you my wife is the dearest wish of my heart at 
this moment ! ” he retorted, passionately. “ Cissy, can you love me ? ” 

For a few seconds her face was troubled. Then she replied : — 

“ You won’t be angry, you won’t think badly of me if I tell you the truth. I wish 
to answer you honestly, and yet I do not wish to be unkind.” She paused here, and 
toyed nervously with her rings. 

“ And my answer ! ” he exclaimed, impatiently. “ Can you love me ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Stay ! ” she exclaimed, extending her hand to him. “ Don’t 
quarrel with me, don’t be angiy with me because I tell you the truth. I do not love 
you — I have never loved any man. No man has ever been sueh a friend to me as 
you; but when you ask me if I can love you, I can only reply, I don’t' know.” 

lie was holding her hands in his as she spoke, and when she finished, he bent down 
over her and said ; — v 

“ I will put my request in other words. Will you marry me ? ” and then he released 
her hands, and stood silently awaiting her reply. 

She bowed her head for a few seconds, then, raising it, looked franldy but stead- 
fastly up into his face, and said quietly : — 

“Yes, if you wish it.” 

“ My darling,” he replied, “ I will be content with that for the present. It will be 
my business henceforth to teach you to love me.” 

Cissy smiled. 

“ I don’t know,” she said, whether I possess such a faculty. I like you and esteem 
you very much. If you are willing to take me, I will marry you ; but I warn you, I 
cannot simulate what I do not feel. Friendship I can promise, — true and thorough 
friendship ; but love, I do not know whether I am capable of such a feeling. My 
ideal is so very different from what I have seen termed such, that perhaps it is beyond 
my comprehension. I am always considered stupid, you know.” 

“ You are quite wise enough for me,” replied Gore, in jubilant tones, “ and they 
who deem you otherwise are those who cannot read aright.” 

Half an hour afterwards, and Gore, having made his adieux, has once more gained 
the street. He walks with head erect and sparkling eye, as men do who have sped 
, well in a love-suit. To have won assent to our wooing sufficeth most of us for the 
time. Whether our passion be prudent, whether the woman we have asked to tread 
life’s path with us is likely to be approved of in our maturer judgment, we reck little. 
She is the one woman in the world, as far as we are concerned just now; and has 
she not pledged herself to be so always ? 

The plunge is over, and there can be no further debate about the wisdom of marry- 


82 


Two Kisses. 


ing Cissy Ilemswortli. The 'vvord spoken never comes back, saitli the proverb ; and 
^Montague Gore is light of heart as he thinks that Cissy is his plighted wife. True, 
she has told him that she does not love him. What of that ? It was scarce likely 
that he could have won her love on so short an acquaintance. That would come. 
Let her but once be his wife, and he had no fear of gaining her atfcctions. 

As if it is in the power of woman to bestow her affections exactly where she Avill. 
A woman who marries without giving her love is like one who sails on a long voyage 
with no anchor on board. It may be prosperous, the winds fair, and the anchor never 
required. But should the winds prove contrary, should treacherous currents sweep 
silently but swiftly towards the breakers, then they must anchor or be wrecked. 
When they have nothing to hold to in their extremity, God help them ! 

CIIAPTEB XV. 

A SOCIAL OBLIGATION. 

Mrs. Patnter sits dawdling in her drawing-room, the morning after the dance at 
Koseneath House, in that somewhat distrait manner we are wont to wear when a 
solitary lireakfast has succeeded to our night’s dissipation. Her husband has departed 
as usual to his business, and Lizzie is musing upon the matrimonial scheme that has 
been confided to her. That men marry for money nobody knows better than ]\Irs. 
Pay liter; but she cannot think Charlie will harden his heart, and take that Miss Stan- 
])ury to wife in spite of all the money he is to get with her. A passable-looking 
woman enough, thinks Mrs. Paynter, but old enough to be his mother. Judging poor 
Miss Clementina rather hardly this, for that lady is by no means so advanced in years 
as that comes to. 

“Well,” thought Mrs. Paynter, “if it is for his good, let it be so. I’ll interfere 
about it neither way. I don’t think I shall ever feel jealous of Miss Stanbury, which 
is a consolation. And if that odious major is right, I’m like to lose an admirer in any 
case, — whether it be by matrimony, or the effects of money troubles. Poor Charlie ! 
I am very sorry for him, but that he was on the verge of a crash 1 have suspected for 
some time. The nicest people always arc so unfortunate ; nobody ever dies oppor- 
tunely and bequeaths them handsome legacies. It is the detestable folks one is 
always meeting and wishing one didn’t that grow rich by inheritance. Look at that 
little wretch, Edward Bunbury, for instance, who exacts the very last yard from a 
cabman, and then gets out and walks to save the extra sixpence. He’s as rich as 
Croesus already, with no idea of how to spend what he has ; yet a venerable aunt 
betook herself off the other day, and left him I don’t know how many more thousands. 
There is something very wrong in our social arrangements,” muttered ]\Irs. Paynter, 
gravely ; “ though I tlon’t know that I ought to grumble. At all events, when we 


A Social Obligation, 83 

get our rights, whatever they may be, I don’t mean to vote for a new distribution of 
property.” 

Here her meditations were cut short by the opening of the door, and the announce- 
ment of Mrs. Ilemsworth. 

“ Delighted to see you Cissy, dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Payntcr, as she rose to welcome 
her guest. “ I am ‘ all in the downs ’ this morning, as men say, when they have re- 
mained up over night longer than is good for them. You will brighten me up, and 
have come to pass the day, I hope. Selfish, of me, veiy, I know; but I plead guilty 
to always entrapping pleasant people when I have a chance.” 

“ Yes, I have come for a long talk,” rejoined Cissy, as she sank quietly into an easy- 
chair. “ To begin with, I have something to tell you.” 

Nothing disagreeable, I trust,” said Mrs. Paynter, quicldy. “ I don’t feel equal to 
bad news this morning.” 

“ No,” replied Cissy, with a low, rippling laugh. “ It’s not bad news, and it’s not at 
all disagreeable. Likely to turn out very much the reverse, I hope. I am going to 
be married.” 

“ You arc ! I am so glad ; but who to ? ” cried Mrs. Paynter, breathlessly. 

Mr. Montague Gore. He asked me yesterday, and I said yes.” 

“ Montague Gore ! My dear, I congratulate you with all my heart ; but how did it 
come about ? I had no idea you had seen much of him lately.” 

Mrs. Paynter, quick as she was about such things generally, might well be blind to 
this. She had no knowledge of the barrister’s constant visits to Hanover street. She 
had only encountered him there twice, and then with a long inteiwal between. Cissy 
rarely mentioned his name, and then only as her professional adviser regarding some 
property it was thought she might be entitled to in England. 

Mrs. Ilemsworth colored slightly as she answ'ered : — " 

“ I have seen him a good deal lately, on that business I told you of, and though I 
knew he admired me, yet 1 never thought of his wishing to marry me till yesterday. 
But I like him very much, and I am so entirely alone that I can only be grateful to 
him for undertaking the care of me. Don’t laugh, please ; but,” continued Cis^y, with 
a slight sob, “ if you had ever known what it was to stand so utterly alone as I have 
done the last few months, you would understand what a relief it is to have some one 
you have a right to lean upon.” 

“ I do understand perfectly,” replied Mrs. Paynter, gravely, and I have often 
been troubled about your future, Cissy. But I think w^e need fret about that no 
more. Montague can well afford to take care of a wfife, is a most agreeable man, and 
" I have no doubt will make you an excellent husband. AVhy,” continued Mrs. Paynter, 
recovering herself, “ he was one of the first eligibles I paraded for you, if you remem- 
ber; but I must say, of late, I -thought nothing would come of it. Why, you’ll be a 
rich woman again. Cissy. Your betrothed is making no end of money in his pro- 
fession.” 

“ Shall I ? ” replied Mrs. Ilemsworth, simply ; “ I am glad of that, for I don’t think 


84 


Two Kisses. 


I should be a good wife to a poor man ; but I can’t say I ever gave bis income a 
thought, when I agreed to marry him yesterday.” 

“ ^yhat, are you so much in love with him that you could think of nothing else ? ” 
rejoined Mrs Paynter, laughing. 

“lam not in love with him the least, and told him so ; but he offered to take eare of 
me, and I thought I eould trust him.” 

IMrs. Paynter eyed her guest narrowly. That a woman of the world — as Cissy 
Ilemsworth, from her past life, could not possibly help being — had accepted a husband 
without considering whether he had an income to support her, was a little beyond 
that lady’s power of believing. Either Cissy was playing the role of the ingenue Avith 
a vengeance, or Avas a simpleton past all understanding. 

“ You told him you didn’t love him ? ” said Lizzie at last, speaking A^ery sloAAdy, 
and almost dropping out her AA'ords. “ I think I Avould have left that out if I’d been 
you. And you’d no idea Avhetlier he Avas rich or poor ? ” 

“ I told him the truth. It is best so. He has been too true a friend not to deseiwc 
that much at my hands. I ncA'er thought about his income. I supposed, as he had 
asked me to marry him, that he had enough for us to live upon. No one Can know 
better than he that I have nothing.” 

Mrs. Paynter could not understand this at all. She Avas morall}' incapable of 
understanding sucli a character as Cissy’s. It Avas not that her disposition Avas false, 
but it Avas soft. Driven to bay, and Lizzie AA^ould have displayed plenty of hardihood ; 
but she detested unpleasantness, she ahvays glossed over disagreeable facts. She 
Avould not actually lie, but she Avould undoubtedly distort circumstances that she 
deemed might be unpalatable to her hearers. When she confessed her sins to her 
husband, Avhich she never did till necessity compelled, it Avas only by hint and innuendo 
extending over tAvo or three days, mingled Avith penitent self-accusation, in a queer, 
beAAutching' fashion all her OAvn. To tell an admirer that she didn’t care about him 
V7ould haA^e seemed to Lizzie needless brutality. 

“ He can’t help it, you knoAv,” she Avould say, Avith the most perfect naivete ; “ so AA^hy 
ill-treat him ? ” But to tell the man that you Avere about to marry that you didn’t love 
him, Avas in her eyes extremely foolish. It had a savage candor about it, repugnant to 
Inzzie’s caressing nature. There Avas a vein of truthfulness and chivalry in Mrs. 
IIcrnsAVorlh that she could hardly understand. Lizzie Avould stand by her friends 
stanchly enough in difficulties, but it must be in her OAvn indirect fashion. She had 
hardly moral fibre sufficient to face the Avorld boldly in their behalf. With all her 
audacity and Bohemianism, Mrs. Paynter did respect the Avorld’s opinion. She rather 
liked astonishing society, nay, even shocking it in her proceedings; l)ut she AA'as 
specially careful not to go too far. Flirt she Avould, flirt she did, but she contrived to 
avoid that scandal should thoroughly fasten on her. She might be talked about; but 
she took heed that no sentence of ostracism should be promulgated concerning 
her, though her passion for intrigue had more than once led her into grievous 
difficulties. 


A Social Obligation. 


85 


"Whether Cissy is deep past all conception, or innocent to an extent unheard of, 
puzzles Mrs. Paynter not a little, as she asks quietly, “ And when is the wedding to 
take place ? ” 

“Very soon,” replied the widow, shading her fair face from the firelight. “ Mon- 
tague wishes it should be so, and I. think, too, it would be best. I am weaiy of fight- 
ing the world alone, and there is no reason for delay, unless he sees such. You will, 
perhaps, think I ought not to marry before my year’s widowhood is out ; but then I am 
peculiarly situated, remember.” 

“ I think you have no one to take care of you at present, and the sooner you have 
the better,” replied Mrs. Paynter, promptly. “ But here is luncheon ; come along. 
Cissy, and get something to eat, and give me the opportunity of drinking your 
health.” 

When Mrs. Paynter, at dinner, confided to her husband the information she had 
received, that gentleman received it with much astonishment. 

“ I never thought Gore would ever marry,” he said ; “ and, if he did, I should 
have thought Mrs. Ilcmsworth the last person he would have chosen for a wife. I 
have nothing to say against your friend, Lizzie, — she’s charming; but I don’t think 
she’s suited to him. Of course, it’s a good thing for her, and I hope it will turn out 
happily. But — ” 

“ None of your huts, sir,” replied his wfife. “ Of course it will turn out well. 
Why shouldn’t it, I should like to know ? ” 

“Well, I’ve an idea that Mrs. Ilcmsworth has no conception about managing a 
house, except in rather princely fashion. Gore is making a good income, no doubt ; 
but one that a woman with extravagant views, like yourself, for instance, could soon 
knock holes in.” 

“I am sure I’ve been very good lately,” retorted Lizzie, resenting the hit at 
herself with great promptitude. “I haven’t come to you for extra money this 
quarter.” 

“ My telling you it wasn’t to be had may have something to do with that,” rejoined 
her husband, laughing. “ However, never mind, I am very likely all wrong, and no 
one can wish them happiness more sincerely than I do.” 

“ They will do very well, you will see ; but, John dear, you know this will cause 
considerable expense to me, and therefore I shall have to come to you before long.” 

“ Why, what on earth has Cissy Ilerasworth’s wedding to do with your expenses ? ” 
inquired John Paynter, brusquely. He was a most indulgent and liberal husband ; 
, but Lizzie sometimes tried him hard on this point. No matter what amount her 
purse was furnished with, INIrs. Paynter was one of those women who arc always in 
difficulties about money matters. 

“ Why, you dear old goose, don’t you see I must have a ncAV dress for the wedding ? 
And then, of course, I must make Cissy a wedding present, and you wouldn’t like me 
“ to do that shabbily, I am sure.” 

“ 0 Lord ! ” returned John Paynter, “ I didn’t know, when I wished her happi- 


86 


Two Kisses. 


ness, that I was to pay for it, besides. I shall preach celibacy to all our friends, out 
of due re^rard for my own pocket, in future. But you shall have somethin<^ to buy 
them a present with, little woman ; and, you’re right, I should like it to he good. 
As for a dress,. — ridiculous; you’ve plenty. Go in any of them. I’ll find no money 
for that.” 

“ But you must,” cried Lizzie, laughing. “ Your wife attend her friend’s wedding 
in an old gown ? My dear John, you’d be hooted out of all society. It would 
come under the head of cruelty, and entitle me to separate maintenance, at the very 
least, sir.” ■* 

“ Ah ! you’d find separate maintenance difficult to get along on, Lizzie, however high 
it were rated. But I’m froze for a cigar. If you’re not going out to-night, let’s have 
coftee in the smoking-room.” 

Mrs. Paynter smiled assent. ^V'hcn she received special invitation to that sanctuary, 
she knew her ends were achieved. 


CIIAPTEB XVI. 

A QUIET WEDDING. 

At last the mnjor has received the intelligence so anxiously awaited these weeks 
past. Ilis Parisian correspondent, M. Bayncr, was a man not easily batfied ; but he 
was utterly nonplussed in the first instance. He had expected little trouble in ascer- 
taining ^Irs. Ilcmsworth’s London address. Some of her friends were doubtless 
acquainted with it-, — probably corresponded with her. But when he came to make 
inquiries, it appeared that none, even of those she was supposed to be most intimate 
with, were even aware that she had left for England. Some would have it that she 
was still in Paris ; others that she had taken a small house at Versailles. In short, he 
already knew more than any one else concerning her. It piqued him. lie was a 
man who prided himself on never being beat about the unravelling of a mystery. 
Still, this certainly did seem a hard nut to crack, that his old friend Jenkens had given 
him, — to ascertain the whcrealK)uts of a woman in London, from inquiries prosecuted 
in Paris. M. Bayncr ruminated a good deal over this problem. 

One evening, while smoking his cigar, sipping his colfcc, and musing over it for at 
least the hundredth time, he had an inspiration, — one of those Hashes that constitute 
high detective art, or acute analysis of character. ]\Irs. llemsworlh, he argued, was 
rather celebrated for her succes de toilette. A woman who has achieved lamc in that 
respect will never abandon the foible of being well-dressed. A Parisian will never 
be satisfied with an English modiste; sooner or later she will send to the artiste she 
employed here. There is only to discover that artiste, which is simple, and, pouf^ 
it is a question of time. 


A Quiet Wedding. 


87 


To discover the modiste that the fashionable Madame Ilemswoi’th had employed 
was, of course, a very easy matter. Some weeks elapsed, and then a note from the 
lady in question informs Mr. liayner that she has received an order from her old 
customer, and that when completed it is to be forwarded to No. — Hanover street, 
Hanover square, London, W. M. Rayner sends off this information to Major Jenkens 
ill his airy, swaggering manner. 

“ Anything more that I can do for you, mon cheVy major ? ” he asks ; “ the amateur 
detective is a favorite role of mine ; command me, if you seek knowledge about auy 
one. 1 will back myself to ascertain anything for you, with this exception, namely, 
how many weeks our present government will last, and who will succeed M. le 
Marcchal.” 

The major smiles as he peruses this letter. It astonishes the veteran intriguer 
little to find that the lady he sought is living within a mile of his offices. His experi- 
ence teaches him that the clue to most information you require is usually very close 
to your hand, if you did but know where to look for it. Curious that Montague Gore, 
also seeking information, should be similarly impressed with the idea that the key to 
his mystery of “ the settlement ” is not far off, though he has no conception of its 
whereabouts. Then, again, the major ahvays had held that Cissy was in London, and, 
that being the case, there was nothing surprising about the locality in which he 
found her. 

Claxby Jenkens is very busy about the little pigeon-holes in his desk this morning. 
He unties more than one neatly docketed little packet, reads, and ponders over its 
contents. There are one or two things not working altogether to the major’s satis- 
faction. That his dear friend Roxby is so utterly beyond his control troubles him 
not a little. He had so made up his mind to have just a trifle the best of him upon 
this occasion, and behold the crafty Roxby seems less within his grip than ever; 
has given him, indeed, pretty frankly to understand that, unless he submits to play 
the subordinate part assigned to him in this matrimonial speculation, his sendees will 
be dispensed with. To a man like the major, accustomed to be the prime mover in 
all such mysterious transactions as he may engage in, this itself is galling. We do 
not like to descend to Cassius -after having been wont to play lago. The major is as 
thoroughly addicted to intrigue as Mrs. Paynter to flirtation. It is open to question 
whether a liundred pounds acquired by legitimate means would have had the same 
value in his eyes as a less sum obtained by very dubious finesse. The major was at 
heart a social marauder, and despised the legitimate trader Avith all the scorn of the 
buccaneers of days lang syne. 

Another thing tliat moves his wrath is that one of his puppets in this approaching 
drama shows signs of much contumacy. Charlie Detfield has Avritten a curt refusal 
to dine Avith Mr. Roxby, — a dinner designed by the conspirators to throAV him once 
more across Bessie Stanbury ; and that a man so entirely in the hands of his creditors 
should presume to thwart their endeavors to obtain their OAvn again is most grievous 
insubordination in the major’s eyes. 


88 


Two Kisses. 


I take measures for the young sinner’s relief, and he has the audacity to throw 
obstacles in the way,” murmurs the major, softly. “ It is always the case whenever 
you try to do good to your fellow-creatures ; they always meet your exertions with 
the grossest ingratitude. Our pauper population arc never satisfied with those insti- 
tutions wliicl . a paternal government has organized for their reception, turn up their 
noses at the porridge provided for them, and make outcry at Iteing separated from 
the wives of their bosom ; and here is an aristocratic pauper showing equal ingrati- 
tude, refusing the baked meats we would serve up to him, and declining to take a 
wife to his bosom. Docs he think property is acquired without some incumbrances ? 
To be sure he is not altogether in the secret as yet. I have been fool enougli to trust 
to nature as a confederate ; as if people ever did fall in love, where it was clearly their 
duty to do so. Ko, I’ll have recourse to human agency again. Nature is a prepos- 
terous imposition, that requires to be curbed, that stimulates people to all kinds of 
imprudences, that rarely suggests scientific selection in marriage, and may be gen- 
erally considered as an antediluvian humbug. Nature, in Dctfield’s case, has 
apparently suggested getting your living by bills. Captain Detfield, it is time you 
were made to feel the bit a little. I shall just drop Simmonds a line to hint that he 
had best press for a settlement.” 

That little transaction neatly executed in the major’s clear, precise caligraphy, and 
that gentleman, after some further reference to his pigeon-holes, thinks he will walk 
up to Hanover street, and make a few inquiries concerning Mrs. llcmsworth ; see 
her, perhaps, if it seems judicious; will be guided a little by circumstances on that 
point, thinks the major. 

A few final directions to his clerk, and then the major carefully adjusts his hat, 
draws on his gloves, grasps a good, serviceable umbrella, and sallies forth, — a well- 
preserved, middle-aged gentleman, of military bearing, but yet with a dash of the city 
about him ; chairman or director of half-a-dozen companies now, you would not be 
surprised to hear, though an ofiicer in Her Majesty’s service in his younger days. 
Head erect, glaring sternly through his spectacles, and handling his umbrella as if it 
usurped the place of the accustomed bamboo, the major strides up llcgcnt street. It 
is not often that he leaves that web of his in John street, where, like a dropsical 
spider, he sits awaiting the Hies, so early ; but he has his reasons. He is interested 
concerning Mrs. llcmsworth, and wishes to know as much about her as he can. St. 
^Martin’s Church clanged half-past eleven as he went past the portico ; and, though 
the major’s gait has a touch of military deliberation, yet there is grafted on it the 
city man’s restless activity. Claxby Jenkens combined swiftness and dignity in his 
footsteps, and was not long before he turned into Hanover street, and knocked at No. 
— , with that imposing air of authority habitual to him. 

There was considerable delay in responding to his summons. In fact the major had 
appealed to the knocker in still more authoritative fashion more than once, before the 
door was opened by a young woman, in a state of llustcr, giggle, and white rosettes, 
who exclaimed, upon seeing him : — 


A Quiet Wedding. 


89 


“ Beg pardon, sir, but I was so busy I. didn’t hear you before.” 

‘‘Mrs. Ilcmsworth lives here, I believe ? ” inquired the major. 

“ Yes, sir ; at least, that is to say — I mean, of course she does,” replied the waiting- 
maid, with further accession of giggle, aecompanied by confusion. 

“ Is she at home ? ” 

But this interrogation seemed altogether too much for the damsel ; and it was only 
with much smirking and blushing that she blurted forth at length : — 

“ La, sir ! don’t you know ? She’s gone to St. George’s.” ' 

“St. George’s!” replied the major, blankly. “St. George’s what — hospital? 
What the deuce do you mean ? ” 

“ No, sir ; oh, dear, no ! ” and here the young lady’s risible faculties were so 
exquisitely tickled at the idea of the hospital, that she was unable to make further 
response. 

“ Confound the girl ! ” muttered the major to himself. “ When will the grinning 
idiot stop laughing ? Excuse me,” he said, blandly, “ I have not met Mrs. Ilemsworth 
for many years. Where is she gone ? ” 

“ I beg pardon, sir, but it did sound so absurd. Hospital 1 Oh, dear, I thought 
you were joking. Missus has gone to St. George’s Chureh. She’s being married 
this morning.” 

“ How long has she been gone ? ” asked the major, sharply. 

“ About ten minutes, sir.” 

Claxby Jenkens twisted sharp on his heel, without another word, and made the best 
of his way to St. George’s. He entered the church, and walked quietly up the aisle. 
He could see there was a group in front of the altar as. he did so. When he came 
near, he stepped into a pew and gazed attentively at the scene before him. Clad in 
rich white silk, and bonnet to match, he recognized Cissy Ilemsworth at once. A 
little behind her stood Mrs. Paynter. Of the half-seore people present, these were aU 
he recognized. 

The officiating clergyman was in the middle of the marriage seiwice. The major 
listened to it at first somewhat lazily. lie had never thought of this. But he leaned 
forward eagerly as there smote upon his ears the words : — 

“ Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s 
ordinance, in the holy estate of matrimony ? ” and heard Cissy reply in clear, reso- 
lute tones, “ I will.” 

A few seeonds more, and he heard the bridegroom reeite in dull, monotonous 
fashion : — 

“ I, Montague, take thee, Cecilia, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from 
this day forward, for better or worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, 
to love and to cherish, till death us do part, etc.” 

“ Montague I ” muttered the major, “ I shall remember that name, I think ; but still it 
is well to be business like;” and, producing a memorandum-book, he made a brief 
entry of the marriage, names, date, etc. That done, and he watched the conclusion 


90 


Two Kisses. 


of the ceremony with the cool, critical eye of a connoisseur; did such recognition to 
Mrs. Paynter’s tasteful toilet as would have much gratified that rather mortified 
lady, had she but- known it. For Lizzie was really quite put out at the exceeding 
quietness of the wedding. 

“ When she said it was to be a very quiet atfair,” whispered Mrs. Paynter to her 
husband, “ I could not possibly understand that it was to be clandestine, you know. 
It is ridiculous their getting married as if they were ashamed of it. I wonder they 
didn’t go to a registry office.” 

“ Yes, it is a pity that we weren’t better informed. You might have saved the 
expense of that new dress, for instance,” retorted Mr. Paynter, with a quaint twinkle 
in his eyes. 

“ Oh, a good dress is never thrown away,” rejoined his wife, smiling. “ Of course, 
it’s a disappointment that there is no one to see its debuty but it will come in useful.” 

Gore had pleaded for no fuss, and Cissy had wisely replied that she, too, wished a 
quiet wedding, albeit she felt it incumbent to send to Madame Holders of the Hue de 
la Paix, Paris, for her wedding-robes, due to which circumstance was Major Jenkens’ 
attendance at her bridal. 

The benediction is spoken, the registiy signed, and Cissy having received the con- 
gratulations of the Paynters, Fox Brine, and the half-dozen other people who had 
been present at the ceremony, walks dowm the aisle leaning on her husband’s arm. 
A rather solemn breakfast in Hanover street, and then a carriage bears away the 
newly married couple en route for Brighton. One of the wedding party lingered 
behind in the church, — it was the unbidden major. No sooner had the remainder 
crossed the door-sill, than issuing from his pew he made his way rapidly to the 
vestry. The clergyman was already gone, but the clerk still lingered and willingly 
allowed him to inspect the register. 

“ Montague Gore, Hare Coui’t, Temple,” said tho major, as he once more had re- 
course to his memorandum-book. “ Oh, well, there will be very little difficulty, I 
imagine, in finding out all about him ; but this marriage may make a coiisidcralile 
difference in my plans; I must think — I must inquire. I would have given a thou- 
sand pounds to have known of this a month ago.” 




CHAPTER XVII. 

ON A BICYCLE. 

It took Roseneath House almost a week to settle down after that momentous event, 
— the ball. When your lot is cast where the stream runs strong, and you are per- 
petually battling with the waters, you can form no conception how little will create a 
turmoil in the still i)ool3 of existence. As Aunt Clem said, “ after the last wreath, 


On a Bicycle. 


91 


the last sconce had been removed from the walls, the house still savored of dissipa- 
tion.” The maids, too, seemed bitten with the “ Valse de Fascination,” and hummed 
it over their daily labors in a manner that scandalized a domestic martinet like Miss 
Matilda grossly. The knocker also seemed “ always on the rap,” as the same lady 
remarked, “What with people fetching away things I had no idea we had ever 
borrowed, and receiving calls and cards from people I never heard of before, a nap 
before dinner has become a luxury of the past.” 

But these cards and visits were a source of considerable amusement and speculation 
to Bessie and Aunt Clem. That close upon the moiety of the guests should be 
strangers to their hostess is not remarkable at a first dance in London. As Bessie 
had said, they would have been sore put to it to find dancing men, ay, and even 
dancing women, without extraneous assistance. It was the puzzling out who was 
who that afforded such fun to Bessie and Aunt Clem. 

They were very curious to see that handsome Mrs. Paynter again, though how she 
had come to be of their gathering they had no conception ; but in that they were 
doomed to disappointment. Mrs. Paynter left cards without asking to be let in. 
Very problematical, indeed, whether her carriage contained Mrs. Paynter upon that 
occasion. Captain Detfield, too, had called and stopped for five-o’clock tea, and both 
ladies were highly interested in his visit. He had danced with both of them, and his 
easy, light-hearted talk had made a favorable impression. Moreover, a guardsman is 
a rara avis in Islington circles, and Bessie’s immediate intimates had manifested much 
curiosity concerning him, both at the ball and since. That young lady was by no 
means insensible to the 6clat attending such an acquaintance, and disposed to keep it 
up, should opportunity be forthcoming. 

It must not be supposed that Bessie had conceived any particular admiration for 
Detfield. She was very young, and her knowledge of men and the world, so far, 
very limited ; but she did perceive that Detfield was of a different class from those she 
had at present met. His quiet, easy, polished manner contrasted considerably with 
that of the few young men she knew. The self-contained bearing, the habitual 
repose of one who mixes in good society, invariably displays a striking dissimilarity to 
those who, immersed in the business of life, have no such opportunities. Women 
note these things keenly ; especially do they regard the carriage of those whom they 
believe to mingle in circles above their own. This is why Mrs. Paynter and Detfield 
were objects of interest to Bessie and Aunt Clem. As for Miss Matilda, she had taken 
no recognition of them. The giving of a ball had absorbed all her faculties. That 
the ball had been a success had swallowed up all minor details concerning it. That 
the consequences of the ball seemed never-ending, as regarded callers and the 
humming of the “ Valse de Fascination ” by her maids, had produced a bilious irrita- 
bility of temperament in Miss Matilda, which imparted a crispness to life at Iloseneath 
House not altogether pleasant to the dwellers beneath its roof. 

Miss Matilda declared vehemently she would never hear of such a thing taking 
place again; that she was a foolish old woman to have ever allowed herself to be*^ 


92 


Two Kisses. 


cajoled — very fond of this world just now is Miss Matilda — into such nonsense by a 
chit of a child just loose from a boarding-school, backed up, too, by one who ought 
to have known better. And here Miss Matilda would glance reproachfully at her 
sister. Still, when the knocker had been moderately quiet, and Miss Matilda had 
leisure to read peacefully, as she expressed it, which meant indulge in her usual 
afternoon nap, then over a cup of tea the good lady would laugh and chat with her 
niece and Aunt Clem, and revel in recapitulating the triumphs of the evening, till an 
arch demand from Bessie as to when the next was to take place, would once more 
remind her that she had set her face against all such nonsense for the future. 

But the ball had produced one result which had been barely foreseen by the ladies 
of Hoseneath House. It had shown to the neighborhood, and also to people some- 
what beyond the immediate neighborhood, that the Misses Stanbury entertained, and 
that very handsomely ; also that there was a young Miss Stanbury who was a very 
pretty girl ; and, further, it was whispered about that Miss Bessie Stanbury Avas a 
3’oung lady with gold galore and cash in the bank, — an heiress, in short; though 
from whom or how she inherited her riches was not quite so clear. But still, two 
ladies who gave balls, — Miss Matilda’s determination luckily not being made known 
to the public, — and who had a pretty niece with a fortune, were decidedly worth 
cultivating. 

The Misses Stanbury found themselves suddenly inundated with invitations. 
Bessie, under the chaperonage of Aunt Clem, took to going out a good deal. Miss 
Matilda, pronouncing them a couple of fools, stayed at home with her book for the 
most part, but showed considerable interest in the history of their proceedings the 
next morning all the same. 

Bessie speculated at times as to whether she should come across Detficld on these 
occasions. It was very natural ; no more than a girl w'ondcring whether she shall 
meet a favorite partner, and girls are accustomed to indulge in such rcticctions with- 
out their feelings being at all interested. We all muse a little upon whom we are likely 
to meet when we contemplate going into society, and calculate whom it may be our 
lot to be paired off with at dinner now and again with no little anxiety. You may do 
pretty well what you like in a ball-room, but at a dinner-party you are the slave of 
your hostess. It is in her power to make the next two hours those of pleasure or 
boredom ; no manoeuvring on your part can avert her decree. If rank has its advan- 
tages it certainly also has its drawbacks ; and there are occasions when the possession 
of a eoronet is fraught with inconvenience to the wearer. Bessie, for instanee, would 
be a pleasanter companion than deaf old Lady Slowborough ; but noblesse oblige., and 
young Lord Martcllo, however he may deprecate the arrangement, finds liimself 
compelled by the laws of society to take charge of that venerable and by no means 
amusing old peeress under such circumstances. 

Still Bessie troubles her head very little about Captain Detficld. She had thought 
liiin nice, that he waltzed to perfection, that he was amusing. She would rather litive 
liked to come across him again. Not at all insensible was Bessie to the distinction of 


On a Bicycle. 


93 


having such a cavalier in her train, but she had built up no romance concerning him, as 
girls sometimes do about a man they have met in this way. Bessie took the world as 
it came, and enjoyed herself as one only does at eighteen. 

Cantering briskly home from a long scamper over Hampstead Heath one February 
afternoon. Velvet gives a tremendous start, rather shaking her young mistress, quite 
unprepared for such a misdemeanor on the part of her favorite, in the saddle. As 
Bessie, recovers herself she looks round to see what has frightened her mare. The 
light is failing rapidly, but she speedily makes out a man seated by the roadside with 
a machine of some kind by his side ; almost as she catches sight of him he springs to 
his feet, and, slightly raising his hat, regrets to have been the involuntary cause of her 
horse’s misbehavior. 

Can he be of any use ? ” and as he asks the question he pats the mare’s neck, and 
leads her back into the centre of the road again. “You were fortunately too good a 
horsewoman to take any harm from the shy, and no doubt your mare has recovered 
her manners by this, and is as ashamed of herself as I am,” said the stranger, once 
more raising his hat. 

“ Yes,” replied Bessie, with a light laugh ; “ I don’t doubt she is ; but she has an 
excuse. Captain Detfield seated by the roadside, apparently in company with a 
knife-grinders’ barrow, would have startled me as much as it did Velvet, had I seen it 
without some little preparation. 

“ Miss Stanbury ! ” exclaimed the guardsman ; “ the light must be my excuse for 
not recognizing you in the first instance. I am really shocked to think that I should 
have affrighted you and Velvet; but, on my word,” ho continued, laughing, “you 
owe me some amende too. Fancy calling my new hack a knife-grinder’s barrow !/’ 

“ Well, what is it you have got there with you ? ” 

“ Mind, I swear you to secrecy. Miss Stanbury ; but I am giving my whole mind up 
to economy this winter. I have awoke suddenly to the fact that a horse may be 
defined as an animal that always eats and is always lame ; such is my experience of 
that perverse quadruped of late. That barrow. Miss Stanbury, is my bicycle, a hack, 
I am assured, when I have once learned to ride it, that can go faster and go further 
than any horse foaled, — that is never lame, never hungry, but which, to wind up >\*ith, 
makes you think to be across the worst you ever rode would be elysium compared 
to it.” 

“ But you are not going to leave your — hack — bicycle, what am I to call it, there, 
are you ? ” said the young lady, merrily. > 

“ No ; now I am rested a little we are about to recommence our doleful progress, 
if you can reconcile Velvet to my company I shall be proud to be your escort into 
town.” 

“We will try. Velvet has, of course, a proper contempt for all machinery; but I 
don’t think she will object to your new steed, when she thoroughly sees what it is. 
We often encounter them.” 

“ Bravo, Miss Stanbuiy^! ” replied Detfield. “No,” he continued, jumping on his 


94 


Two Kisses. 


bicycle, “ we will push along, nominally because it is getting late, but in reality 
because this affair usually upsets when I tiy to go slow on it.” Detfiekl had attained 
very fair proliciency, and kept alongside Velvet’s easy canter without difficulty ; that 
high-bred quadruped, after a disdainful snort or two, making no objection to the 
arrangement. “ It is a good while since we met. Miss Stanbur}",” observed the 
guardsman ; “ but I’m afraid we have few mutual acquaintances.” 

“Yes, that is likely,”'rejoincd Bessie. “ London is vciy big, and my acquaintance 
noi very extensive. You see I have not been what is called ‘ out ’ very long ; and, 
though I’ve been to a good many parties this winter, I suppose our paths lie wide 
apart.” 

“ I don’t know about that,” replied Charlie, somewhat mendaciously ; “ it is mar- 
vellous how people run across each other in London.” 

“ Then I suppose. Captain Detficld, the fates have been against it in our case } ” 

“ It would seem so. Fortune has treated me scurvily of late in many things. I 
hope she will behave better in future ; ” and here Charlie bethought him what an 
inconvenient thing a bicycle was from which to sustain a conversation with a lady. 

They were now nearing Liverpool road, and had arrived at the tramway that enters 
the suburb on the north. Bound the turn in the road came the gleaming lights of the 
cars. Calling to his companion to pull to one side, Detfiekl turned his bicycle to the 
other, but the big wheel caught in the iron grooves of the tram, and, with a heavy 
crash, Charlie came to the ground. Though a little shook he had sense enough left to 
roll clear. Another second, and the heavy car smashed his overturned bicycle to 
shivers. AVith a passing malediction the driver pursued the even tenor of his way, 
and, covered with mud, Detfiekl sprang to his feet. 

Bessie, passing the car upon the opposite side, saw nothing of this accident. She 
looked round when she cleared it, and, missing her companion, at once reined up her 
mare. It waxs getting dark now, and she could see nothing of him. She sat still and 
waited. The bicycle, needless to say, did not appear. Then Bessie turned her horse 
and walked it slowly along the road. Before she had gone a hundred yards she met 
Detfield. 

“Tyhat is the matter ? ” she exclaimed. And where is this economical hack that 
is to wear down poor Velvet ? ” 

“ Dead ! ” replied Charlie, laughing ; “ he’s been run over and killed by the street- 
cars. No commiseration. Miss Stanbuiy ; you can’t think how glad I am he’s gone. 
It’s such a comfort to find the thing as liable to accident as horse-flesh. You’re witness 
I’ve tried economy, and that it turned out a failure. I shall sue the company for 
(iamages next week, and buy a hac’K with the proceeds.” 

“ But you are covered with mud ! ” cried Bessie, as a street-lamp revealed the state 
of Detfiekl’s dress. “ Are you sure you are not hurt ? ” 

“Not a bit, except in regard to my vanity. I know I’m not looking ray best for a 
lady, and that is always painful to bear.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” returned Bessie ; “but here is my groom. AVhat can he do for you ? ” 


On a Bicycle. 


95 


“ Let him ride on and get me a cab, and allow me to walk alongside you to your 
own door. It’s no distance now — ” 

And your bicycle ? ” 

“ Let its bones lie where it fell. I am well rid of it. Velvet was right in her con- 
victions ; they are things to be fought shy of.” 

Bessie laughed, as she gave her henchman his orders, and walked her mare slowly 
homewards, while Detfield strode by her side. 

“ It is -well it is dark. Miss Stanbury, or I should compromise you fearfully. The 
neighborhood would say that you came home accompanied by a crossing-sweeper.” 

“ I don’t care much what the neighborhood think,” replied Miss Bessie, proudly. 
Oh, please don’t say so,” rejoined Charlie, earnestly. “ No woman, and espe- 
cially a young one, can ever afford to say that. Ten thousand pardons. Miss Stan- 
bury, I have no business to preach. I apologize, but I know the world better than 
you.” 

“ You fancy, then, that I ought not to be seen coming home with you in this way,” 
said Bessie, somewhat bitterly. 

- “No; don’t mistake me. I was only jesting at my own disreputable appearance; 
but you spoke so boldly about defying your neighbors — excuse me, I w^as wrong, I 
always am — taking to a bicycle, for example. Pray forget and forgive my unfortu- 
nate remark.” 

A guardsman of twenty-six, preaching sermons to a girl of eighteen, — the thing 
was an anomaly. 

They walked on in silence. Detfield striding steadily along by Velvet’s side, 
wondered what could have possessed him to begin moralizing. But his reflections 
'were speedily brought to a close by their arrival at the Misses Stanburys’ door, 
where Bessie’s groom and a cab were awaiting them.. Charlie lifted his fair com- 
panion from her saddle, declined coming in on the plea of his bespattered habiliments, 
and, expressing a hope that he might have the good fortune to meet Miss Bessie 
again ere long, took his departure. 

Bessie amused her aunts at dinner with a laughing account of the guardsman’s 
misadventure ; but more than once that evening she knit her brows, and the color in 
her cheek deepened as she thought of Detfield’s remark. It angered and annoyed 
her. She deemed that he had misunderstood her; that he had taken her half-jesting, 
half-petulant little speech seriously. A frank, free, unaffected English girl, Bessie 
had no desire to be included in the category of “ fast young ladies,” neither was she 
-given to such habitual contempt of the convenances as her retort would imply. The 
young lady felt a little indignant that Detfield should have taken her so literally. 
She did not want him, or, for the matter of that, any one, as she remarked to herself, 
to think of her in that way. She had done herself an injustice, and she knew it. 
She certainly did not merit to be regarded in that light. Why had he taken up her 
foolish speech so quickly ? Then she wondered what had sui’prised him into speaking 
so earnestly. It had been but a few words, apologized for as soon as uttered, brief as 


96 


Two Kisses. 


a ripple on the water ; and yet Bessie thought she had caught a glimpse, in those 
half-dozen seconds, of a chivalrous manhood, under the guardsman’s usual light, 
nonchalant manner, such as she would fain know more of. 




CHAPTER XVlll. 

THE major’s meditations. 

Thinking that you have game in your hand, and playing your cards boldly, it is 
rather a shock to find that you have miscalculated trumps. Deeming that you have 
considerably the best of your neighbor, and suddenly awaking to the fact that it is he, 
on the contrary, who is in a position to dictate terms to you, is also apt to disturb the 
equanimity of practitioners like Major Jenkens. Men who live by the weaknesses 
of their fellows are wont to be much put out, on finding themselves in contact with a 
bird of prey stronger in the wing than themselves. The major cannot get over Mr. 
Roxby’s curt, decisive ultimatum. It is all very well to say that he will be amply 
recompensed for his share in the arrangement of Miss Stanbury’s marriage, but the 
major had fully intended to be a partner in such spoil as might accrue fi’om the 
successful negotiation of that atfair ; evident now that Mr. Roxby will have nothing to 
say to him concerning it, unless he enacts the role of a subordinate. This is precisely 
what the major specially objects to do. 

It is a blow to his amour propre. He is not particular, as we know. He will stick 
at little that docs not place him within the clutches of the law ; but he docs like to pull 
the strings himself. He chafes at being a mere puppet in the hands of another. Ho 
knows Roxby well; he knows that eminent city financier to be as bold as unscrupulous. 
Twice has he had transactions with him ; and upon each occasion, clever as the major 
was, he had found himself thoroughly outwitted, and a mere tool at the last in the 
hands of his crafty and audacious coadjutor. This had irritated the major much, and 
he had vowed that the day should come when it should be he that would dictate how 
atfairs should be carried out to Roxby. When that gentleman wrote him that little 
note to John street. Major Jenkens conceived his day was come ; but the ball in 
Barnsbury park had rather dissipated that opinion. 

!Major Jenkens occupied chambers in a first floor in Charles street, Berkeley square, 
plainly but handsomely furnished rooms, and pervaded by their occupant’s love of 
order. From the trim writing-table to the dwarf book-case, from the lounging-chair 
to the comfortable sofa, everything was arranged with almost mathematical precision. 
You saw no volumes upside down, or a second volume in place of a third in that book- 
case; no answered letters or loose note-paper were scattered about that table. Long 
experience had taught the major the precise angle at which tliat lounging-chair got 
most benefit of the fire, and least possible draught fiom the window; where the sofa 


97 


The Major's Meditations. 

and the other furniture figured to the greatest advantage. Having made up his mind 
on these points, he permitted no shifting of his movables from the places assigned te 
tliem. 

“ The furniture, sir, in these rooms,” he was wont to observe, “ has been arranged 
after considerable study of their natural disadvantages. It is absurd to think you can 
place a chair here so cleverly as I can. Those who live in a place understand where 
the draughts and other drawbacks lie. All houses, chambers, lodgings, etc., have 
their weak points, blemishes not to be counteracted. Sit where I put you, and you 
will be comfortable. Move your chair according to your whim, and don’t blame me 
if you have a crick in the neck.” 

It was true that the major was not given to entertain visitors. It was only up©H 
rare occasions that he invited a guest even to smoke a cigar in his chambers ; and, 
social buccaneer that he was, yet he was scrupulous as an Arab under his own roof 
tree. If you dined with him at his club, and hinted at ecarte to pass away the even- 
ing, you would find him a dangerous antagonist, albeit he did not play very often ; 
but nobody had ever succeeded in making the major produce cards in his own rooms. 
It was probably matter of calculation. When the major played, it was in the way of 
business, and he scorned to play for sugar-plums ; but he was too well aware of what 
the world would say of a man like himself, who should win a big stake in his own 
chambers. The major thought rightly that he had a character to maintain. There 
were not wanting scandal-mongers, who would have retorted that he had a character 
to obtain. 

The major, enveloped in a well-wadded dressing-gown, is ensconced in that most 
scientifically disposed lounging-chair, and immersed in thought. He is stimulating 
his intellect with a large ‘‘ cabana,” and some cognac and seltzer, — aids to reflection by 
no means to be despised upon occasion. He is gradually piecing out why it is that ]Mi% 
Roxby appealed to him at all about finding a husband for Bessie Stanbury, and he has 
arrived at a very fair guess at the truth, 

“Yes,” he mutters, slowly ejecting a long wreath of tobacco-smoke, “ he must in- 
tend to seize upon a good slice of that girl’s money on her wedding, and I suppose he 
thought rightly, if she was snapped up by any of his business friends, or any young 
fellow in that way, that the settlements would be looked pretty sharply after. If, on 
the other hand, he can marry her to some broken-down swell from this end of town, he 
doubtless reckons on his being a man too needy to inquire very closely into things, 
and too anxious for the marriage to dare to quarrel with his bride-elect’s guardian, — 
one who could put his veto on the match for the next three years, at all events, and 
“Without whose aid and countenance the wedding would in all probability never take 
place. Possible,”, continued the major, musingly, “ that my esteemed friend, Roxby, 
has already made away with a considerable portion of that thirty thousand pounds.- It 
wouldn’t surprise me in the least. However, it’s not likely that he will aUoAv a glim- 
mer of that to leap out. This young Detfield, too, apparently, is not disposed to 
second my exertions on his behalf, — a piece of imbecility on his paid that I sliail have 


98 


Two Kisses. 


to counsel Simmonds & Co. to put a speedy stopper on. I don’t know, but it cer- 
tainly does occur to me that E,oxby might find him out not quite so docile, when it 
comes to the point, as he reckons upon. Eather a self-willed young man. Hum ! I 
don’t know that I have made a very good selection, and yet at the moment he seemed 
the very man. Absurd, situated as he is, that he should presume to differ from his 
advisers. It’s ungrateful, that’s what it is,” growled the major wrathfully. 

But, as he thought it over, the major’s face cleared a little. True, at the first 
glance, it would seem very much against his, the major’s, interest, if Detfield should 
decline to woo the heiress pointed out to him ; yet if he should do so, and then prove 
refractory at the last moment ; suppose he should win the girl’s consent, and decline 
to accede to old Boxby’s conditions, whatever they might be. The major rather 
chuckled at the idea. He had already perceived that, difficulties or no difficulties, 
Detfield had a will of his own, and was capable of facing all the consequences of his 
embarrassments sooner than extricate himself by a distasteful marriage. It was equally 
probable that Koxby’s proposals, when he should come to hear of them, would strike the 
guardsman in quite another light from that in which the financier viewed them. The 
major had no idea what they would be, but it did occur to him that what Eoxby Avould 
airily designate a little business transaction, Detfield might apply a very different 
epithet to. 

“ Yes,” mused the major, that really would suit me better than anything else. 
If he should win the girl and come to loggerheads with old Eoxby about the settle- 
ments, my fee certainly would be in danger, but the old fox would have to show his 
hand, and I might pick up a little information that would give me the whip-hand 
of my dear friend Boxby for life. I should think that cheap at £500. But confound 
that fellow, Detfield, how’s he to win a girl if he won’t make love to her ? — and he’s 
refused all the invitations Boxby has sent him. We must make him feel his diffi- 
culties a little; he must understand that Simmonds requires to be humored; that 
whatever his ultimate intentions may be, ‘going in’ for a wealthy marriage is the 
only thing, except a settlement, to pacify that Christianized Jew just iiow, and I must 
trust to the girl herself and Mrs. Paynter’s counsels to do the rest. It was a mas- 
terly conception that of deceiving her with regard to which INIiss Stanbury was the 
heiress. Such a coquette as Mrs. Paynter would never resign an admirer to a pos- 
sible rival ; I have only to take care that she does not discover the mistake until too 
late.” 

The major was an artist in social intrigue. lie revelled in it, and wove or repaired 
the broken threads of his numerous schemes with all the patience and industry of a 
hungiy spider. He had always been particularly fortunate in the delicate operation 
of bringing two people together with a view to matrimony, and* rubbed his hands 
softly as he looked back upon more than one successful negotiation of that 
description. 

“ Hum, that’s settled,” murmured the major, gently throwing himself back in his 
chair, and watching the smoke-wreaths as they curled above his head ; “ that is to 


The Major's Meditatwns. 


99 


say, I’ve decided how I’m to play my game, and what will be the most profitable 
result to Claxby Jcnkcns, — the only person I have to care about in the aflair. Now,” 
continued the major, knocking the ash of his cigar carefully into a little china saucer, 

I have two other bits of business that require immediate attention. Item first, the 
Montague Gores have returned from their wedding trip, and I must see Mrs. Mon- 
tague. It is a thousand pities I found her too late. If I could havd spoken to her 
before that marriage ! What sort of a marriage is this that she has made ? How 
came it about ? Psha ! ” he muttered, “ what nonsense ! don’t I know ? Left as she 
was, poor child, what else could she do, but accept the first man that offered her a 
home ? — and I had intended that it should be so different. I had meant that Cissy 
should choose whom she liked this time. I chose for her the first ; I thought I had 
insured her wealth, at all events. I think if I had met Ilemsworth a year or two ago, 
knowing what I do now, he would not have lived as long as he did. I suppose he 
would have fought if collared, and by my soul he’d have a fair chance to judge of my 
shooting ; ” and the major’s eyes gleamed with a savage light, such as men’s cany 
when the thirst for blood possesses them. “ I kept away from them ; I thought it 
best ; what have I on earth to love but her ? Well, I didn’t want — no, of course ; I’m 
a disreputable old vagabond, and the world says hard things of me, — would say 
harder, perhaps, if it dared. I didn’t want my darling to be ^clogged with an old 
father, of whom such queer stories are afloat. I dare say she thought me unkind. 
They call me hard; I am; but it’s all for her. Cissy, I must see you again, my 
child, if only to hear from your own lips that you are happy.” 

No one of Claxby Jenkens’ acquaintance would have recognized their cool, cynical 
friend in the man who, with eyes suftused with tears, bent over the fire and gulped 
down a rising sob or two with difficulty. Yet it was so. The battcl’cd old heart, 
hard as granite to the world generally, had this one soft spot in it, an oasis in the 
desert. Claxby Jenkens, in all his scheming, plotting, and plundering, had ever an 
eye to leaving a snug fortune to his daughter. His one anxiety for some years had 
been to get the girl settled in life. He knew too well what sort of reception a daughter 
of his was likely to receive in society. When he had married her to Ilemsworth, he 
deemed his end accomplished. He had looked more at Hemsworth’s position than at 
his character. It was the light in which a man like the major would be sure to regard 
a parti for his daughter. He disappeared immediately after the wedding ; his reasons 
we already knoAV. It Avas Avell, perhaps, that it had been so. 

The major Avould have been likely to call IlemsAvorth sternly to account for his 
neglect of his Avife, a father-in-1 aAV Avith Avhom quibble or evasion would have scarce 
passed current. Mark IlemsAVorth had been just the man to have cowered before 
him, ])ut to have brutall}’- avenged himself on Cissy afterwards. HoAvever, that Avas 
a past noAV dead and buried. It Avas the future that Avas to be looked to ; and no fond 
and respectalfie father of a family ever felt more anxious about the happiness of his 
favorite daughter than did this Avorld-Avorn social marauder. 

“Yes,” he muttered, “ I must see Cissy in the first place ; not much difficulty about 


100 


Two Kisses, 


# 

that. In the second, I must find Tim Turbottle. Who could have dreamed of his 
leaving the old cigar-shop, and taking it into his head to wander about the country ? 
However, of course he is to be found ; it is only a question of time. It will be as 
well not to be in a hurry. I shall be better able to form an opinion of IMr. ISlontague 
Gore after a little. If you have made as great a mistake for yourself, child, as I did 
for you, it will* be well that j’^ou should have something to fall back upon.” With 
which reflection the major emptied his goblet and betook himself to bed. 

Claxby Jenkens thinks, like many other intriguers, that he holds the strings that 
shall guide the destinies of three or four persons in this history ; but it may likely 
prove the old story, that those he deems his puppets will not dance to his pipe. It 
occurs to these diplomatists, at times, to find that they have failed to gauge the course 
that man or woman will take under certain conditions. We know what w'e ourselves 
would do under such circumstances, but forget that others may regard things in a 
different light. We scheme to make the happiness of our friends, perhaps, and go a 
long way to make them miserable. Ideas of Elysium do not always coincide. Above 
all, we do not agree with our intimates concerning what is best for us. The major 
would fain smooth Cissy’s path in this world, and yet he had failed signally so far. 
It is possible that his further manoeuvres may prove equally unsuccessful. 

Still he is so wedded to his accustomed mole-like strategy that he could hardly be 
induced to try a straightforward and above-board course ; so impressed with the 
maxim that his neighbor is continually striving to do his duty by getting the better 
of him, that it behoves him to work with secrecy and caution. Much exercised in 
his mind and strengthened in his creed by the conduct of neighbor Roxby at this 
time, and feeling that mankind is less than ever to be trusted, and that his designs 
and intentions cannot be too carefully shrouded from those whom they may concern, 
the fates are working for him more than he knows ; but your social diplomatist is only 
too apt to mar what he would fain achieve by injudicious interference. The major is 
an artist, it must be admitted, but the man who trusts nobody invariably pays the 
penalty of misconstruing human nature. 


CHAPTER XIX. 
mus. paynter’s sacrifice. 

Mrs. Patnter has hardly yet got over Cissy’s wedding. That lively lady alludes 
to it with a mock pathos, irresistibly ludicrous. 

A nice thing for her, of course it is, poor darling ! She had nothing, you know, 
and will make Montague Gore a charming wife.” Mrs. Payntcr is apt to be a little 
incoherent when excited, and speaks as if poverty was a necessary ingredient of a 
charming wife. “ But the ceremony was dreadful. It was quite shocking to be 


Mrs. Paynter's Sacrifice. 


101 


married in that way ; really, you know it might as well have been all done at a 
registrar’s office. Nobody there, and I in such a lovely dress, — it was quite sinful not 
to be seen in it. Yes, we stole into church as if engaged in some criminal proceed- 
ing ; if we had been after the communion plate it would have been impossible to 
have felt more guilty. I was conscious of a creeping sensation all the time, such as I 
presume accompanies infringement of the law. I cowered beneath the eye of the 
beadle, and shouldn’t have been surprised if I had been taken into custody at the 
church door. No,” Mrs. Paynter would conclude, with a shrug of her shoulders and 
upraising of her delicate brows, “ I can’t say what I may take part in before I die, 
but I’ll never, never, have anything to do with a quiet wedding again.” 

“ Well,” replied Charlie Detfield, when this sad story was unfolded to him, “all 
weddings are rather melancholy affairs, — don’t you think so ? ” 

“Certainly not,” retorted Mrs. Paynter, her blue eyes dancing with mirth; “I 
expect yours to be rather good fun. AVhen do you marry your grandmother ? Beg 
pardon, Charlie, I mean the Islington woman.” 

“ I should think never,” retorted Detfield, brusquely. 

“ But you must, you know,” said Mrs. Paynter, gently. “ flow are the debts ever 
to be settled, if you don’t ? Y’ou won’t tell me much ; men never do about such 
troubles ; but, my poor Charlie, I know all, — never mind how. Marry money you 
must, and that very soon. She is not so veiy old, and she looks a nice, good-natured 
woman. It will all do very well.” 

“ Ah ! you know I’ve the rope round my neck, do you ? ” exclaimed Detfield, bit- 
terly. “ Doesn’t it ever strike you that there may be other ways of escaping from 
my troubles } That one can sell out, cut London, and begin life anew ? ” 

“Yes, Charlie, I have thought of all that,” replied the lady, in a voice so low that 
it was scarce above a whisper. “ Begin life again, eh ? But how ? It is so difiicult 
for such as you. ” 

Coquette as she was, Lizzie was thoroughly in earnest. She felt keenly for Det- 
field, and, perhaps, realized the hopelessness of his position better than he did. She 
was very fond of him in her way. Do you ask, did she love him } No. Lizzie Paynter’s 
heart was in the safe-keeping of the last man society would have suspected of pos- 
sessing it, — her husband. But that did not in the least prevent her having a tendresse 
for some one of her admirers ; besides, Lizzie invariably had a dscebOy and Detfield at 
present was in possession of that post. 

Charlie was silent. He, too, when he had thought over his future, had sometimes 
wondered what there was that he could turn his hand to. It is not so easy to say, 
after half-a-dozen years of a military life, how best to set about earning your bread. 

“ No, believe me,” continued Mrs. Paynter, at length, “ this marriage is the best 
thing for you. She is certain to be married, and may light upon a very much worse 
husband than you. Of course, she is a little old for you, but you can’t have every- 
thing. She, at all events, will have a gentleman for a husband ; and I don’t think, 
Charlie, you* could ever ill-treat a woman.” 


102 


Two Kisses. 


“ Does it ever strike you that all this sounds somewhat singular from your lips ? ’* 

“ Yes ; but it is for your own good. Do you think, if things were otherwise, I 
would let you marry if I could prevent it ? No, Charlie, I am giving up something 
too. We must bury the past. I shall wear mourning for — for what’s been fora 
little ; and then we shall be friends, stanch friends, you know, for life.” And Mrs. 
Paynter bowed her head in attitude of the prettiest resignation. 

It was a curious thing, but Dctlield had fallen by accident into the same mistake 
that Mrs. Paynter had been intentionally led into by the major, lie had thought 
rightly, that Bessie Stanbury was the heiress, in the first instance ; but Mrs. Paynter 
had laughingly pointed out Aunt Clem to him, in the course of that evening at 
Barnsbury park, as the lady who possessed thirty thousand pounds. Charlie, very 
careless about the matter, and having little intention of getting out of his difficulties 
in such fashion, had at once imagined himself mistaken. He thought it so much more 
probable that the elderly spinster was the -wealthy bride recommended to his notice, 
than that pretty girl in all the flush and excitement of her first ball. Dctfield was 
quite as convinced that Miss Clementina Avas the lady rejoicing in all these golden 
allurements as Mrs. Paynter herself. To him Aunt Clem represented the Miss Kil- 
mansegge of Islington. lie did not think it necessary to mention his last meeting 
Avith Bessie. Men arc shy of mentioning their discomfitures to the Avoman they love, 
Ave knoAV, and the bicycle business Avas likely to evoke more laughter than sympathy. 
To express admiration for one pretty AVoman to another is usually considered inju- 
dicious, but it certainly requires a clear conscience. Charlie Avas dimly aAvare of 
thinking rather more about Bessie Stanbury than his allegiance to INIrs. Paynter quite 
Avarranted. 

“ I suppose it must be so, sooner or later,” he replied, at length. ‘‘ I haAm got pretty 
near to the end of my tether ; and, Avhatcvcr may be my destiny, I am not likely to see 
much more of you. Yes, I’m about broke. You’ll miss me a little, Lizzie, I think.” 

“ You knoAV I shall,” interposed Mrs. Paynter, rapidly. “ You know I Avould do 
anything in my poAver to help you. Advice is aU I have to gNe, and once more I say 
emphatically, many the heiress.” 

“ Suppose the heiress Avon’t marry me ? ” returned Detfield, smiling. 

I shall suppose nothing of the sort, sir, till you have tried. I think, Charlie, you 
could make love rather nicely if you gav^e your mind to it.” 

“Ah ! you think so.” 

“ You don’t deserve an answer, but just for once I’ll say I know it,” returned Mrs. 
Paynter, Avith an arch flash of her bright eyes. 

“ And knoAving that ? ” 

“ I say go away and do it.” 

“I don’t sec the necessity of going aAA\ay.” 

“ But I do,” cried Mrs. Paynter, springing to her feet, and giving an impatient stamp 
of her little foot. “ What fools you men are ! Charlie, if I didn’t care for you, I 
should let you keep philandering about me to the last. But it can’t be. You must 


Mrs. Paynter's Sacrifice. 


103 


think of yourself. Leave me now, and next time I see you tell me you are engaged 
to the heiress. You’ll have no truer or stancher friend than Lizzie Paynter. Do 
you understand me now ? ” 

“Not in the least,” replied Dctficld, curtly. “ I have a strong idea that I am dis- 
missed, — to make way for somebody else, I presume.” 

“Unjust!” she cried, and fora second she turned her face from him and leant 
upon the mantel-piece. “Well, let it be so, if you misunderstand me now,” she con- 
tinued, facing him, and rearing her head haughtily, “ Miss Stanbuiy will gain a worse 
husband than I thought.” 

“ Pardon me,” he said, in a low voice, after a short pause. “ The bitter idea of 
parting with you must be my excuse for my brutal remark. I would I could recall it. 
I do understand you, and if I don’t do what you wish, believe me, I recognize you 
■would banish me for my own good.” 

“ That’s like your old self, Charlie,” exclaimed Lizzie, extending her hand. “Now 
say good-by, and remember, firm friends ever.” 

lie pressed her hands passionately, raised them for an instant to his lips, then mur- 
mured, “ Firm friends ever,” and was gone. 

Mrs. Paynter threw herself back in her chair, and mused very sadly over the scene 
she had just gone through. Her life was passed in these flirtations, yet she was 
always to a certain extent quite in earnest at the time. She had been very fond of 
Detfield, — that is to say, in her way. He had suited her exactly. He had never 
made an attempt to pass that indescribable boundary at which Mrs. Paynter consid- 
ered her admirers’ homage ought to stop ; that her admirers should sometimes not 
quite recognize this particular point was scarcely to be -svendered at. But Mrs. 
Paynter was very impatient with any mistake concerning it. She had been most 
thoroughly truthful in what she had told Detfield. If she had cared about him less, 
she would have kept him dangling about her. She dismissed him, because she hon- 
estly thought that was the only thing to save him. It may sound like an anomaly to 
say that a woman entertains a sincere love and esteem for her husband, and yet lives 
a life of pei’petual flirtation — is never satisfied without an admirer at her side ; but 
the thing is. There' are women such coquettes by nature that they crave admiration 
as an opium-eater does the fatal drug. It becomes ingrained into their veiy being. 
Their heart is never involved, their feelings, perhaps, slightly, their vanity consid- 
erably. The parading an admirer befoi^e the world is a great gratification to such 
w^omen. They have no desire that their aftairs should be hid from society. Society 
usually has its mouth very full of them, but, after all, it is generally their more demure 
sisters who occasion society to hold up its hands, and make moan over their back- 
slidings. 

“ It might all fit in so very nicely,” thought Mrs. Paynter. “ If he would but try 
in earnest, he would be sure to succeed. Women at that age, unless they are purse- 
proud, are apt to get a little uneasy lest they should not get married at all. She didn’t 
give me the idea of being pulFed up by her riches. A pleasant, good-tempered body, 


104 


Tiuo Kisses. 


I should say. A little old for Charlie, perhaps ; decidedly so indeed, — might almost be 
his mother; but we could soften it down a good deal if we got her into the hands of a 
West-end modiste. These lifteen years might be toned down to seven or eight (about 
the actual dillerence between them) with a little attention to the toilet, — a mere 
nothing. But he ! there’s the difficulty, — he’ll not make an effort. I am sacrificing 
myself for nothing, and he is so very nice. These men they never do understand 
what’s good for them. He’d rather — hem ! talk to me, than make love to !Miss Stan- 
bury,” and here Mrs. Paynter rose, and, crossing the room, deliberately contemplated 
her pretty face in the glass. 

The result 4vas apparently satisfactory, for, after gazing at herself for some sec- 
onds, an arch smile stole over her countenance, and, with a light laugh, she ex- 
claimed ; — 

“ Perhaps he’s right. If I w'cre a man, I think I also should prefer it.” 

Of a verity, the major secured a valuable auxiliary wdicn he conceived the bold 
idea of calling upon Mrs. Paynter. 

As for Detfield he is at present something like the Irishman’s pig, that alloAved 
itself to be driven so peaceably towards Cork, because it Avas under the delusion that 
its owner Avanted it to go to Limerick. This marriage is very distasteful to him ; he 
had declared he w^ould not repair his broken fortunes in that Avay. But men liaA^e 
made such resolutions before, and yielded at last to the special pleading of friends, 
and to the force of circumstances. In the mean Avhile, under the impression that she 
is a portionless girl, Charlie bids fair to glide into a llirtation Avith Bessie Stanbury. 
Of course there is every possible reason for his not doing so, regarding Bessie as he 
does ; but the perversity of pigs is often paralleled in human nature. A tendency to 
fall in love Avith those they ought not has been a common frailty of humanity since 
the Avorld began. 

He meditates a good deal upon Avooing the Islington heiress, as he strolls leisurely 
doAvn Portland place. It is so A''ery odd, he thinks, that Lizzie Paynter should advo- 
cate it so w armly. It is rather unlike her. Curious it Avas, Avith the Paynters he first 
made his boAV in Barnsbury park. By the Avay, noAV he comes to think of it, it Av^as 
Mrs. Paynter Avho had made him accept that invitation. Hoav came she to be thus 
travelling out of her usual sphere ? What took her into a society so ibreign to her 
accustomed haunts ? As Charlie reflects on this, he begins to have a vague suspicion 
that there is a conspiracy to marry him to IM^ss Clementina. But then hoAv came it 
about that the major and Mrs. Paynter should be engaged together in such a scheme ? 
Why, they Avere not even acquainted. Suddenly flashes across him a shadowy 
recollection of seeing them talking together at that ball. He cannot remember dis- 
tinctly, yet he has an impression that it Avas so. Well, suppose he sAAuins Avith the 
stream and tries his luck ? 

“ I shan’t break my heart if she says No, that’s one comfort,” he muttered, Avith a 
grim smile, “ and 1 shall feel tolerably mean if she chances to say Yes. Of c*ourse, it’s 
done every day, and I don’t suppose I am justified in refusing good counsel. AVhy 


After the Honeymoon. 


105 


shouldn’t I also go in for money ? There is one thing, — it would necessitate visiting a 
good deal in Barnsbury park, and I shall see something more of Bessie Stanbury, 
which will be pleasant, if nothing else is. Settled, carried, no one dissenting. I am 
to make love to the old lady, — a matter of business, and if I have a chance to liirt a 
little with the niece ; well, I am a weak mortal, an^l shall really deserve some slight 
relaxation. I shall come to grief over it, I know. I’ve a conviction I’m opening the 
campaign on wrong principles, and shall be eloquent in the wrong place. Vvdiat I 
have been trying to say all day to the aunt will come blundering out to the niece in 
the evening, and I shall wind up by proposing to the wrong woman. Well, it’s a 
consolation to think that I can’t be in a bigger mess than I am now, and if I do lose my 
head, and ask Miss Bessie to marry me, we can't get any further. We can’t wed 
upon my debts, and, by Jove ! that’s about all the property left me. Paragraph for 
the ‘ Post ’ ; ‘ We regret to announce that Captain Detheld, of the Household Brigade, 
• has succumbed to the prevailing epidemic. Ilis resources proving unequal to the 
demands made upon them, after a lingering and painful struggle, he departed (for 
the Continent) tranquilly this morning. His loss will be much felt (for forty-eight 
hours) in the fashionable world, in which he was an universal favorite.’ ” And then 
Charlie indulged in a low laugh at his own little jest, — such laughter as men make 
when they mock their own miseries ; such laughter as rings cracked 'and hollow on 
the ear, and prefaces at times criminal solution of the knot men’s follies have tied. 

Charlie Detfield spoke of his difnculties lightly, but they were gnawing sharply at 
his heart-strings nevertheless, and the bitterest drop in his cup, perhaps, was the 
thought of leaving his regiment. He loved the old corps very dearly, and regretted 
much that his days in it were ah’eady numbered. 



CHAPTEB XX. 

AFTER THE HONEYMOON. 

Montague Gore has returned from his wedding trip, and established himself and 
bride in Park Crescent. He is charmed Avith his wife. He has found her the bright- 
est and most intelligent of companions, and yet even now there falls at times a slight 
' shadow across his life that causes him to wince, and wonder whether it will ever be 
s^vept away. Cissy is always kind, courteous, and good-tempered, but he feels that 
there is an inner life of which she reveals nothing. It is not that she is a lifeless 
statue ; on the contrary, she displays plenty of animation, and enters eagerly into 
such sight-seeing or society as may fall in their way. She is always pleasant and 
bright in her manner, but no caress ever escapes her. She yields placidly to his kiss, 
but she never returns it. 

Montague Gore thinks at times sadly that he has failed to win this woman’s heart ; 


106 


Tzvo Kisses. 


that for all the love he lavishes upon her, she has none to give back. Will he succeed 
in touching it ; or is she of so reticent a temperament that she will ever keep that 
inuer self locked firmly within her own bosom ? lie knows there are such natures, — 
cool, phlegmatic, self-reliant beings, in whom the craving for sympathy, so common 
to mankind, does not exist. Cai^ Cissy be one of these } lie thinks not. The way 
her face lights up when anything pleases her forbids him to think so. Montague 
Gore arrives at the conclusion that the key to his wife’s heart is not in his keeping. 

He is one of those highly sensitive, imaginative men usually so ingenious in self- 
torture. The great catastrophe of his earl}- life had crushed all thought of woman’s* 
love out of him for years. For some time after that terrible blow he abandoned all 
society, and took refuge in hard work. And work came to him in plent}" ; even his 
brethren on circuit were astonished at the (piantity he managed to get through. 
Kow he had once more given full rein to his atfcctions, and was sensitive as a woman 
in his love. Again and .again he told himself that he was a fool, and tried hard to put 
this thought away from him. She had told him, when he asked her to marry him, 
that she liked, but did not love, him. 

Well, was she not all that he had any right to expect ? Could he not rest satisfied 
with quiet regard and esteem, and trust to time for the rest ? I’Icnty of men would 
be perfectly satisfied with what Cissy gave to him ; but he unluckily was not one of 
them. He thirsted for her entire love. Cissy would have told him, liad he talked to 
heron the subject, that she did not believe it was in her nature to love in that manner; 
but it may be doubted whether he would have derived much comfort I’rom that assur- 
ance. Ivcsolutcly though he might try to put this thought away from liiin, angry as 
he felt sometimes at his own folly ; still it was ever recurring to his mind, lloating 
dimly before him in the bustle of the courts at Westminster, standing out clear and 
distinct in the stillness of the night-time, gathering strength slowly but surely, as all 
such morbid ideas will. Montague Gore is cherishing a phantom tliat may chance to 
lay his hearth desolate should it grow up. 

And yet the charm of her manner, her piquant, graceful ways, increase the wild, 
passionate love that he has for her daily. Cissy’s nature, though she is utterly 
unaware of it, is expanding under the tender watchfulness of her liusband. In that 
first luckless marriage of hers she had been treated alternately as a pet child, and 
with brutal neglect. Bullied and sneered at, she had lost confidence in her own 
powers. {She had many times wondered whether she was indeed the fool Mark 
Hemswortli so continually asserted her to be. 

She had shrunk from the coarse associates to whom ho so often introduced her. 
Her woman’s intuitive delicacy hatl forbid her to make a fiiend in all that money- 
making, speculating circle, in which her Baris life had been passed, — fungi of the 
Bourse, who were roiling in riches to-day, and Heaven kiK)ws where on the morrow ; 
men who l>ought everything, reckless of price, if it were the fashion, but could no 
more understand the pictures which adornetl their walls, or the music they paid such 


After the Honeymoon. 


107 


sums to listen to, than if they had been bereft of sense and hearing ; women whose 
sole end was to outshine eaeh other in dress, equipage, and display. 

During these five years Cissy’s inner nature had laid dormant. Her finer feelings 
and intellectual faculties, from the time she left the convent, had been locked, con- 
gealed, as the sea in an Arctic winter ; to be the best-dressed woman in Paris, her 
highest ambition; to be present at the first exhibition of anything notable, play, 
opera, a two-headed child, or a Patagonian giantess, the subject of her most strenuous 
desire and intriguing. Yet in the midst of all this incessant turmoil, the girl, for she 
was no more, had a vague feeling that she was made for something better. She would 
sit at times before some of those pictures that Mark Ilemsworth had collected from 
mere pride of purse, and gaze at them till the painter’s higher meaning stole gradually 
into her mind. She would occasionally become so absorbed at the opera as to turn a 
deaf ear to the vapid compliments with which she was so constantly beset, and give 
cause to their utterers to petulantly endorse .Mark Hemsworth’s statement, that his 
wife was a fool. And yet they were constrained to admit Madame liemsworth couki 
talk well at times. 

One of the first things that had attracted her to Lizzie Paynter was this lady’s 
soft, caressing manner. Secondly, Mrs. Paynter was cultivated in her tastes, and, in 
spite of her irrepressible passion for flirtation, had a genuine admiration for art as far 
as she understood it, whether it was in poejry, painting, music, or fiction. Another 
thing, too, although it may seem almost an anomaly, was that, despite her besetting 
weakness, there was something very genuine about Lizzie. She could not help that ; 
but, if men only understood her, she was very honest even then. It was they who 
made the mistake, if they did not comprehend that the atfair was to be limited to a 
little sentiment. 

But now Cissy was living a very different life. Montague Gore treated her always 
with deference, and constantly talked to her if he did not consult her about his own 
work. She was thrown in contact with clever men, and heard much talk that inter- 
ested her with regard to books, music, etc. Her husband’s friends, soipe of them 
were engaged more or less in such occupations, and listened to Cissy’s naive, spirited 
comments on these matters with evident pleasure and amusement. She took to read- 
ing also. It annoyed her to be ignorant of what was current topic of conversation 
amongst the world in which she now lived. You would have said she was improv- 
ing every day, and adapting herself, week by week, to be a fit mate for the man she 
had married. 

She comes into her pretty breakfast-parlor, fresh as a rose this May morning, 
attired in a bewitching costume, highly suggestive of Paris to a feminine eye. Her 
husband glances fondly at her, as she makes her appearance, and exclaims : — 

“ Late, Cissy. Be quick with the tea, please, child, for I have no time to spare. 
Rather an ominous pile of letters for you.” 

“ I am so sorry. I don’t know how I came to be so late. You shall have your 
tea, though, in a moment ; ” and Cissy busied herself with the cups and saucers. 


108 


Two Kisses, 


Her husband, mean while, betook himself to his meal with the air of a man who had 
no time to spare. Cissy, having completed her arrangements, commenced to investi- 
gate her correspondence. As her husband said, it was rather an ominous little heap 
that lay by the side of her plate. Square-shaped, unpromising billets, directed in 
stiff, clerkly handwriting, such as are wont to be more or less familiar to most of us 
about Christmas time. Cissy knit her brows more than once as she ran her eye over 
them, and at last could not refrain from an ejaculation. 

“A hundred and tifty-three pounds!” she exclaimed. “The wretch! Why, I 
have had positively nothing for it.” 

^Montague Gore raised his head. A milliner’s bill was an experience that he had 
not yet encountered. 

“ Sounds a deal of money, Cissy. Is that from your dressmaker ? ” 

From one of them,” replied his wife, carelessly. “ I shouldn t mind it so much, 
but she is not worth the price she charges. I have to go to Paris when I want any- 
thing nice ; but, not living there, I can’t deal altogether with my old modiste.” 

Montague Gore becomes conscious of a second revelation. A man usually con- 
fines himself to one tailor ; but ladies who aspire to “ art in petticoats ” find work for 
many milliners. 

“ I hope devoutly that those malevolent-looking epistles are not all on quite so large 
a scale,” remarked Gore, somewhat curiously. 

“ They come to a good bit of money ; but you needn’t look frightened, Montague, 
this time,” rejoined Cissy, laughing; “I have a little of my own money left still. 
You see I had to get some things for our wedding, and it costs so much to dicss 
decently nowadays, and one must do it.” 

She said this with the air of one who lays down a proposition which admits of no 
possible dispute. 

Gore remained silent for a moment. Like the generality of men, he was only con- 
scious that a woman’s dress became her. He had no idea of the details that went to 
make up the picture. He admired it as a whole ; but whether it was expensive or 
inexpensive never entered his thoughts. He did know his wife was always dressed 
most becomingly, but it had never occurred to him that even her plainest toilets 
were very costly. Just now he is putting together “ a hundred and fifty-three 
pounds ” and “ dressing decently.” It strikes him that he does not quite understand 
that last phrase. 

He smiles as he replies, “Well, my dear, of course you must bo what you call 
decent, but I should have thought it might have been done a little cheaper.” 

“ I dare say it might; but I’ll own that I’m stupid about such things, and never 
can manage to get things so cheap as other people. I’m no use at bargaining, 
you see.” 

“ Never mind ; all I meant was that I should think there are lots of ladies in Lon- 
don who can’t afford to have two or three milliners’ bills of that amount, and yet 
contrive to look decent.’* 


After the Honeymoon. 


109 


Do you know what Lizzie says ? ” cried Cissy, laughing. ‘‘ She says there ai’e 
two classes of women, — those who dress themselves, and those who clothe them- 
selves.” 

“ Meaning, I presume, those who are rich and those who are poor.” 

“Nothing of the sort. Lizzie is quite right; there are plenty of women who go 
about clad in silks and satins, and, it is to be hoped, not quite in their right minds ; 
and there arc plenty more who trot about dressed in cheap muslins or merinos.” 

“Well, when you feel economieally disposed, I should recommend those latter 
fabrics to your notice.” 

“ No,” replied Cissy, shaking her head, “ they don’t suit me. I am very sorry for 
you, Montague, but I only look my best in rich attire ; and the woman who is not 
always anxious to look her best is absorbed in pursuit of political rights, elevating her 
status, freeing herself from the slavery your sex has imposed on us, or some equally 
unfeminine employment.” 

“ I must be off. Good-by,” said Gore, as he rose and kissed his wife. “ Don’t 
think I want you to count your shillings too closely, but recollect we have not 
Aladdin’s lamp in the house, and that we are people of moderate means.” 

“ Moderate means ! ” thought Cissy, as the door closed behind him. “ Now, I do 
wonder what I am to understand by that. I never asked him anything about his 
income yet ; but I think I must. I don’t want to get Montague into any difficulty, 
and I know I’ve been taught so far only to dress and spend money. If I have to 
economize, I’m sure I shan’t know how to begin.” 

“Moderate means” is rather an indefinite term. So is “dressing decently.” 
Cissy is as puzzled how to interpret the former as her husband how to understand the 
•latter. 

But Cissy has not quite come to the end of her correspondence. There is a letter 
or two left unopened, and, as she listlessly turns them over, her face flushes. Her 
eyes sparkle as they meet the neat, precise superscription that is on the little note at 
the bottom of the heap. How well she knew the handwriting once ! W^hat years it is 
since she has seen it, — 'wi’iting of one who loved her well, and whom she also loved. 
What secret tears she had shed because he so ruthlessly, so unaccountably, aban- 
doned her ! 

lie had told her when she married Mark Ilemsworth that she would neither see nor 
hear from him for a long time. lie had enjoined her never to speak of him, — never 
even to acknowledge the relationship. 

^ She could not understand why, but she had promised and stood loyally to her 
word. She had thought over it many a time since, and wondered what it was that he 
dreaded. Had he been connected with dangerous mercantile speculations, or Avas he 
involved in some of those numberless political schemes, always, as she knew, rife in 
Paris for overturning the government, whatever it might be ? She was such a child 
at the time of her marriage it was little likely that he would trust her, kind and 
indulgent father as he had ever proved. Still, he had most solemnly adjured her 


110 


Two Kisses. 


never to speak of him, never to inquire after him till she shoiihl hear from himself. 
Then she was to be guided by what he wrote, and now here was a letter from him 
after all these years. Did he even know, she thought, how often his Cissy had wanted 
him in those troublous days that she had been INIark Ilcmsworth’s wife ? Ilow many 
times, when heartsiek from negleet or brutal gibes, she had longed for some friend or 
relation on whose bosom to pour forth the salt tears which she confided only to her 
pillow, — for some one to whom she might sob forth the story of her ill-treatment and 
unhappiness ? How often she had thought that if he only knew he would have taken 
his darling away, or read Mark Ilemsworth such a lesson as would have ensured her 
from insult, at all events, in the future. 

The circle in which she moved, though they deemed Cissy a fortunate woman, 
inasmuch as she possessed an excellent establishment and perfect equipages, were not 
blind to Mark Ilemsworth’s jeering manner to his young wife, nor to the fact of those 
more cowardly insults which a coarse-minded libertine can pass on the woman 
who has the misfortune to be tied to him. More than one of her acquaintances, 
wedded as they were to dress and display, had 'wondered how she bore with Mark 
Ilemsworth. 

But Ilemsworth, although he did not know the reason, knew that her father 
intended to reside entirely in England, and that Cissy was ignorant of his address. 
He had not dared to treat her so otherwise. Whatever else he might be, the major 
was a man of neiwe and deteimination. Ilis son-in-law had been simply a boisterous 
bull}’’, and, as a matter of course, an arrant cur at bottom. 

Cissy’s hand shook a little as she at last broke open the envelope. What he was, 
what he might be rec]voned amongst men, she neither thought nor cared. To her in 
her girlhood he had been kindest, most loving, most patient of fathers, and she had 
had so few to care for her. There was a mist before her eyes as she read ; — 

“Dearest Cissy, — You have doubtless thought me cruel, unkind, forgetful, for 
never seeing or writing to you in all these years. iSfy child, now I have arrived at some 
idea of what you have gone through, I am covered with shame, anger, and confusion. 
It is well, perhaps, that I did not know sooner the story of your Paris life. I know it 
even now imperfectly, but my pulses tingle yet with what I liavc learned recently. 
Ilemsworth is gone, so there is happily no more to be said, though I acknowledge 
still to a feeling of regret that it is out of my power to call him to account for his 
treatment of you. This is a story of the past, however; let it lie buried. 

“ Cissy, don’t think I deserted you. I cut myself off from all knowledge of you, as 
I thought, for your advantage. I could not explain why to you then. I can hardly 
do so now without humiliating myself. You will not force your fatlicr to do this. It 
was a mistake. I thought I left you settled in life, with everything a reasonable 
woman could wish for. That your husband woidd turn out what he did never entered 
my head. I did my utmost to discover you, when I learnt Ilemsworth was dead. I 
found you, but it may be too late. When I did see you, it was before the altar of St. 


A Quintette. 


Ill 


George’s Church; I saw .you married for the second time. I am perhaps nervous and 
fanciful, child ; but it is possible that this marriage also may turn out unhappily. I 
know how you were left ; that you had no choice hardly but to many. Could I have 
found you a little sooner, you would have known, at all ev^ents, that was no necessity. 
I must see you, to learn from your own lips that you are well, and wedded to a man 
who at least treats you with kindness and respect. But the reasons that made me 
separate myself from you still exist. I cannot call at your house. Your husband 
must remain ignorant of the connection between us ; indeed, I would prefer that he 
should be ignorant of my very existence. Write me a line then here, to tell me when 
and where I can see you. Till then, 

‘‘ Believe me, dearest Cissy, 

‘‘ Your affectionate father, 

John Claxby Jenkens. 


“ 6 Charles street, Berkeley square.” 


Cissy read this letter through twice, and then sat twisting it absently in her fingers. 
She was thinking how long it ivas since she had seen the writer; how attentive and 
kind he had always been to her girlish whims and wishes ; how delighted she would 
be to see him once more. It was almost as if he had come back from the grave, she 
had so long and so entirely lost sight of him. It never entered her head that 
clandestine meetings are always liable to involve a woman in trouble ; of course she 
should keep his secret, and do his bidding. She had always done what he told her. 
She would write at once and say where they were to meet ; of course, under the cir- 
cumstances, it must be somewhere rather out of the way. Cissy opened a map of 
London, and pondered as to where she should appoint her rendezvous. She did not 
know’ the big city very well, but it suddenly struck her that some of the squares lying 
west between her house' and the Marble Arch usually wore a deserted appearance, and 
one of these squares it should be. 


. CHAPTEB XXI. 

A QUINTETTE. 

That Mrs. Paynter would be one of Cissy’s earliest visitors was only natural. She 
really, in her butterfly fashion, was very fond of the bride, and had been immensely 
pleased at that rather necessary, and, as she considered it, most appropriate marriage. 

“ She is charming and penniless, — he is nice and has a nice income, — what can be 
more suitable ? ” demanded Mrs. Paynter. “ Charming women without money are or 
ought to be the destiny of men who have, — those are their affinities. You see I study 
Swedenborg and Spiritualism. John was mine, and we suit one another exactly ; ask 


112 


Two Kisses. 


him. He don’t mind my flirting. He doesn’t bother himself much about me unless 
I want anything, then he takes any amount of trouble to get it for me. As I am 
always wanting something, John is perpetually interested in me. I was made for him. 
He would have ceased to care about a woman who was not exigeaiite as myself. 
There’s another thing,” — and the volatile lady’s face softened as she made this admis- 
sion, — “ dear old John is the only man who does know me, both the worst and the 
best of me.” 

It is possible, not perhaps very uncommon, for man and woman to tread life’s path 
together, and never comprehend each other to the end. 

“You’ve a very pretty house. Cissy,” exclaimed Mrs.’Paynter, on her first visit, 
“ and of course I think the situation perfection. It is near me, and I am perfection, 
you knoAV. Besides, it’s delightful to have you established so close. It has taken me 
all this time to get over your surreptitious wedding. How could you submit to such a 
thing ? I felt a guilty creature for days aftei’Avards, — as if I had assisted at something 
unlawful. Did you feel married ? Do you feel married yet ? ” 

“ Montague and I both Avisbed a quiet Avedding,” replied Cissy, laughing. 

“ I don’t mind quiet AA^eddings,” rejoined Mrs. Paynter, solemnly, “ but 3''Ours AA^as 
a clandestine marriage.” 

“ Not quite ; but avIio had Ave to ask ? You and Amur husband Avere my sole friends 
in London. Montague only Avanted the man or tAVO he had, Mr. Brine and the 
others.” 

“ I never saAV him before, but I don’t like Mr. Brine,” returned Mrs. Paynter, sen- 
tentiously. “A man Avho had nothing civil to say to a Avoman Avho looked as Avell as 
I did that daj^ must be a monster, — one of those connecting links Avith the Zoological 
that Mr. DarAvin talks about.” 

“ You did look Avell,” replied Cissy, Avitli a little enthusiasm of the Paris days. “ It 
should have been a gay Avedding, if only to let the Avorld see Amu.” 

“ISIy dear,” said Mrs. Pajmter, Avith a mock expression of anguish, “I Avas a 
poem, — a poem Avithout interpreters. Let us drop the subject. I shall never be a 
poem again, let my modiste do her utmost. I don’t Avant to be indiscreet, but I pre- 
sume jmu find Montague all you Avish ? ” 

“ Kindness itself. He consults me about eveiy thing. After m\^ former experience, 
jmu may suppose AA'hat a charm such deference has for me,” and Cissy cxpericncctl a 
Amguc feeling of annoyance. What business had Mrs. Pa^mter to call her husband 
l;y his Christian name ? 

If she had reflected, she AAmuld have remembered that Lizzie Avas rather addicted 
to speak of her male acquaintance in this fashion. 

“ Yes, he AA^as always perfect in that Avay. He didn’t affect society \miy much, but 
Montic Gore Avas alwa^m courtesy itself, Avhen he had to deal Avith our sex,” replied 
Mrs. Paynter, musingly. 

Cissy Avas no Avhit better pleased by this remark. She did not care to hear histori- 
ettes of her husband’s courtesy to others before she kncAV him. Again, his Christian 


A Quintette. 


113 


nfiite was her propei’ty now, to be shared only with authentic relations. What 
right had Mrs. Paynter to use this diminutive, — a thing she had never as yet allowed 
herself to do ? 

“ You will have to bring him out, my dear,” exclaimed Lizzie, enthusiastically. 

If he has shirked society thus far the loss has been society’s. He c.an talk bril- 
liantly, when he chooses. I know no one I w’^ould rather be taken down to dinner by 
than your husband. He was always adamant till he met you. Impeiwious to our 
smiles, but pleasant.” 

She was literally hardly conscious of it, but there floated into Cissy’s mind, as her 
visitor spoke, the misty thought, — had Lizzie Paynter ever tried the effects of her 
charms upon this husband of hers ? The thought was so vague, so indefinite, that if 
you had taxed Cissy with it at the moment she would have given it unqualified 
denial. A mere germ ; but such germs, by force of circumstances, sometimes flourish 
and bear fruit ; at others, nothing assisting them, they perish in the mind which gave 
them birth. 

“You have known Montague for some years, I suppose ? ” inquired Cissy, carelessly. 

“ Yes, I really forget how long exactly ; but we certainly are old acquaintance now, 
— old friends, I hope I may say. But I am forgetting part of my mission. If you 
have nothing else to do, will you come and eat your dinner with us to-morrow ? You 
are both great favorites of John’s, and I was told specially to catch you, if I could.” 

“We shall be delighted.” 

“ Ho party, you know ; a stray man or two, perhaps, if I happen to come across any 
that are pleasant. But, between you and me, my dear, that’s not an every-day 
occurrence, so there 'will, very likely, be only our four selves.” ^ 

^ “ And a very merry quartette we shall be, no doubt,” cried Cissy, gayly. 

“ Of course we shall. Tete-d-tete dinners are all very well, but one requires a little 
change sometimes, though you mustn’t admit it as yet. Good-by.” And, with a 
laughing little nod, Mrs. Paynter took her departure. 

Apparently that lady’s wanderings had been unsuccessful, for the next night saw 
her dining-table laid for four. But when her husband returned, just in time to dress, 
he dashed into his wife’s room, and exclaimed ; — 

“ Asked a fellow to dinner, Lizzie ; just send word to ’em to lay another plate, will 
you ? ” 

“You shall be obeyed, my lord,” replied Mrs. Paynter, as she turned to give the 
neeessary instructions to her maid. “ Who is it, John ? ” 

“ Only Brine, — the fellow we met at Gore’s wedding, you know. I ran against him 
to-day, and he said he hadn’t seen them since they came back ; didn’t know they were 
back, in fact ; so I said he had better come and meet them here to-night.” 

“ I am sorry you asked him here,” replied his wife, slowly. 

“ Why ? He’s a friend of Montague’s. If he didn’t admire that costume as much 
as he ought, it’s hardly sufficient reason for objecting to him,” rejoined her husband, 
laughing. 


114 


Two Kisses. 


“ It is a very good and sufficient reason, sir,” said Mrs. Paynter. “ To have ovtr 
looked that dress showed a want of sense of the beautiful, lie must be a gross, 
material, male creature. No, stop one moment, John. Listen ; I have been impi'ov- 
ing my mind lately. I have been reading; and this is what one of our greatest 
writers says : ‘ Dress is so essential a thing in the mind of a woman that no man who 
cares about women ought to disdain critical study of it.’ ” 

“ AVell, my dear, it’s getting high time you attended to it, or you’ll not stand 
criticising to-night. I’m off.” v 

“ As a man always is when he gets the worst of an argument,” cried Lizzie. 

But John Paynter detested cold soup, and vanished, lie understood his wife well, 
and she was right when she said no one else did. Lizzie had better stuff in her than 
the world gave her credit for. 

It was a very merry dinner that. Those little dinners arc so charming, — where 
the ball of conversation is kicked around, and all the table are players, — and, more- 
over, fair players ; where intimacy exists among the convives and there is no noted 
talker to oppress their spirits. I have always thought one of the funniest things ever 
beheld must have been the meeting of those two famous professors of the monologue, 
Madame de Stael and Coleridge ; according to tradition it was like a two-year old 
race at Newmarket. The poet jumped off with the lead, iwid the lady never was in 
it. She never could get a word in. I suppose it all depended upon who spoke first ; 
aud madamc, as a lady, must have had the choice of taking the initiative. I don’t 
believe she ever forgave herself for the mistake ; and it is pretty evident that she 
never felt friendly to Coleridge afterwards. 

“ And the first lion thought the last a bore,” * \ 

is a burlesque line, with much meaning in it. 

But Lizzie bends her head to Mrs. Gore, and the ladies rise. She stops for a 
second as she passes her husband, and whispers in his car, “ Well, sir, am I not fit to 
be looked at now ? ” then, before he could reply, she exclaimed aloud, “ Now, 
gentlemen, don’t sit all night over your wine. I’m going to be Bohemian to-night, 
and let you light cigars in my drawing-room. Have coffee there, John } ” 

“ Of course ; order it in half an hour, and tell Bindon to let us know.” 

“ Deuced glad to meet you, to-night. Fox,” said Gore, as the ladies left the room. 
“ I was coming down to see you to-morrow, if I hadn’t run against you so provi- 
dentially. An inspiration of yours, Paynter, asking him here. The fact is, I want 
you to go down to Nottingham Tor me. I am so far in arrears with work myself, that 
I cannot spare the time. You’ve nothing particular to do, have you ? ” 

“ Well, I’m busy. I don’t mean but what it could stand over a bit,” returned 
Brine. “ Still, I have got a plot of a three-volume novel on the stocks that I think 
wdll be a success. I haven’t quite worked it out yet, but I have got it pretty clearly, 
%nd was going at it this next fortnight.” 


A Qicintette, 


115 


‘'If you’ve really started to write, I’ve no more to say. I know what interrupting 
a literary man is, when he has regularly collared his subject.” 

“Ho, I’ve not exactly begun. I’ve just mapped out the fU’st volume. I can’t say 
I’ve fairly laid down to it. Rather a good idea. Montie, though ; I’ll just tell it to you. 
I should like to know what you fellows think of it. A man marries in life, and his 
widow — ” 

- Halloa ! stop ! what becomes of the man ? ” 

“How should I know? Dies, of course; cholera, railroads, anything. Petty 
details are the sin of small novelists. Well, his widow marries again. He has a 
child, and she has a child.” 

“ They had two children i§"the usual way of expressing it,” remarked Gore. 

“ What a fool you are ! Of course, her child is by the first mamage, and his also.” 

“ But we know nothing about him.” 

“ How should you ? You’re not intended to till the end of the second volume.” 

“ But oughtn’t we to know about his previous marriage ? ” inquired John Paynter. 

“ God bless my soul, no ; everything depends upon your being kept in ignorance 
of that. Well, the boy and girl, being brought up with no knowledge of each other, 
fall in love.” 

“ But' how the deuce are they to fall in love if they’ve no knowledge of each 
other ? ” demanded Gore. 

“ Really,” remarked Brine, with the utmost serenity, “ it is hopeless to explain 
the salient points of a plot to two fellows like you. I volunteer a sketch, and you 
demand a photograph. They’ve no knowledge of their connectionship, of ^course. 
Well, just as things are getting unpleasant all round, the rejected lover, who has 
made a large fortune in America, turns up.” 

“ But Ave’vc never heard of him as yet,” exclaims Gore. 

“ Of course you haven’t. How could you ? He doesn’t appear till this stage of 
the story. One -would think 3’^ou expected to find it all in the preface. Real art, sir, 
is to spring your effects like a mine.” 

“ How did he make his fortune ? ” asked John Paynter, sententiously. 

“ There you go again ! details, details, always details. Men who paint landscapes 
don’t paint miniatures. The best likenesses of Oliver Cromwell were not those which 
particularized his warts. How should I know how he made his wealth ? Went gold- 
digging, or pig-sticking, or something. I tell j'ou he made his fortune.” 

“ I give in,” returned Gore, laughing. “ Go on. Fox.” 

- “ Oh, it’s no use going on,” replied that gentleman. “ If you’re not in the profes- 

sion you can’t understand these things. Any fellow that wrote would comprehend it 
all in a second. Never mind. Now, Montic, let’s have j^our plot, or hear what you 
want done. Do 3^011 wish me to once more inteiwiew the peripatetic Turbottle ? Ha 
is the great fact left in my mind connected with Nottingham.” 

“ No, never mind him. But 3^011 know I told 3^011 some time back that I had a 


116 


Two Kisses. 


tangled skein to unravel. I want to find the relatives of a certain Mark Ileinsworth ; 
and I fancy, from what I hear, that they are to be discovered in Xottinghamshire.” 

“ Why, that was your.wife’s name,” said Brine. 

“ Yes ; and it’s her late husband’s family I want to get hold of. I have a strong 
belief that she had a marriage-settlement, though as yet I have found neither the 
deed nor the trustees. Now her father, who has vanished altogether, is probably one ; 
but search for him seems hopeless. One has no idea where to liegin, supposing that 
he is still alive. But the other trustee might perhaps he one of the Ilemsworth 
people ; or, at all events, they might know something concerning the aftair. If I am 
right in my conjecture, the settlement, if settlement there were, was on property in 
this country, and I’ll tell you why.” And then Gore related to his companions the 
slender data upon which he had founded his conclusion. 

Brine listened attentively, and when the narrator linished, exclaimed : — 

“ I’ll go in for this, Monde. I think doing detective will be rather good fun, and 
ought to lead to some striking situations.” 

“ Such as being pitched out of windows,” chimed in John Paynter. 

‘‘You have no taste for dramatic art, sir,” j-ejoined Brine, “or you wouldn’t 
imagine that I could lend myself to such a coarse farcical incident.” 

“ Tell us whether you think it farcical when you get to the bottom,” grinned Mr. 
Paynter. 

“You don’t understand the natural tact with which your obedient servant is gifted,” 
continued Brine, scarce heeding the interruption. “I’ll cross-examine Nottingham- 
shire as if I was a revising barrister. Montie, my boy, I have acted in the ‘ Scrap of 
Paper.’ We’ll make a glorious drama out of this note-book incident. Superb, by 
Jove ! I feel it simmering in my brain already. It will haunt my pilloAV. Consider 
the thing done. I’ll find a dozen Ilemsworths, and the difficulty shall be to discover 
which is the right one. Don’t you think that would be a point, eh ? ” 

“If you’d think of my wife’s interests, and not of an imaginary drama, I should 
call it a point,” rejoined Gore. 

“ Of course,” said the imperturbable Brine. “ But Mrs. Gore’s interests and the 
playgoing public’s are one upon this occasion. Don’t be afraid, T^Iontic, I’m not quite 
a fool, if I am imaginative. I’ll ferret out what you want, and discover Ilernsworth’s 
relations, if he has any.” 

“Well, now let us go upstairs to coffee,” said the host. 

“ At last, Mr. Gore,” exclaimed Lizzie, as they entered the drawing-room. “ What 
I should call a very liberal rendering of half an hour. Nonsense ! no apology ; of 
course I’m jesting,” she continued, as Montague showed symptoms of pleading 
extenuating circumstances. “ I am only too glad you found John’s wine decent ; you 
know of old that I like my guests to be happy in their own way, and that the greatest 
compliment you can pay me is to let me see you’ve passed a pleasant evening. Now 
come and talk to me. I want to investigate you in your new character.” 


Charlie Det field’s Affairs. 


117 


** Want to see what a wife’s clone for me,” returned Gore, laughing, as he dropped 
into an easy-chair next his hostess. 

“Light your cigar, — you see John has, — and then you can talk as if you Avere 
not married.” 

Now a quintette is sometimes a very awkward number should the conversation 
cease to be general, aud the party not be all intimates. 

Mrs. Payntcr’s drawing-room Avas destined to furnish an example of this. The 
hostess has settled doAvn to a pleasant tete-d-tete Avith Montague Gore. Cissy and 
John Paynter AV'ould probably have done likeAvise, but Brine, in self-defence, AA^as 
compelled to make a third in their conversation. lie Avas the discord in that trio. 
Brine was a thorough man of the Avorld, and could talk fluently on most topics, and 
yet it Avould seem as if he had “ agreed to disagree ” Avith his tAvo companions about 
CA^erything. lie Avas Avont to be rather dogmatic in his opinions, — a failing ahvays 
irritating to AA^omen, should you differ from them, because they also are generally 
strongly Avedded to their ideas. James Smith used to assert that his politics Avere 
alAA’ays the same as those of the lady he took down to dinner. It is good to modify 
one’s opinions in like manner. Brine AV^as also given to live more amongst men than 
in general society; a not uncommon result of AAdiich is the loss of that habit of 
deference to their remarks, so much appreciated by all Avomen. Certain it was that 
Cissy and he conceived a mutual dislike for one another upon this, one may say, their 
first time of meeting ; for, except at her Avedding, Brine had ncA^er seen his friend’s 
wife. John Paynter, too, Avas conscious that the talk Avas somehoAv spoiled, and not 
altogether to Mrs. Gore’s taste, and characterized Mr. Brine to his Avife after\A"ards as 
an “ argumentative cus^.” 

That gentleman, as he Avended his Avay leisurely home to the Temple, shook his 
head, and hoped Montie Gore might not some day think he had better have remained 
unmarried. 

CILiPTER XXII. 

^ -u. CHARLIE DETFIELD’S AFFAIRS. 

Belief in himself is one of those things Avithout Avhich a man never achieves 
anything. “ Ilfaut se faire valoir ” ought to be inscribed on every young man’s ban- 
ner. It by no means folloAvs that such belief is not misplaced, but it is so much better 
to hold as a creed than mistrust in one’s abilities, that I cannot help thinking conceit 
to be by no means a bad stock in trade for a man in the commencement of his career. 
Of course it may be OA^erdone ; but the Avorld very soon corrects that fault, AA’hile the 
other, — ah ! have we not all seen men’s lives marred by that other ? As Ilazlitt said, 
“ the apprentice who did not think he would one day be Lord Mayor Avas bound to 
be hung.” 


118 


Two Kisses. 


Fox Brine had never achieved anything, but there never was a man who believed 
more' implicitly in himself, lie was quite convinced that, whenever he had time to 
finish otf these dramas, or novels, that he conceived with a prolificness utterly bewil- 
dering to his friends, he should awake like Byron and find himself famous. But, 
somehow, he never did find time. It is, perhaps, a little astonishing, but those who 
succeed in such things always do find time. 

Mr. Brine emerges from his bath, radiant as the sun-god, the morning after his 
dinner at Mrs. Payntcr’s, ready ta write, to argue, to do, or to die. He jots down a 
few ideas for a buffo song, as he continues his toilet, and is not without an inspiration 
concerning a prologue for some amateur theatricals, to which he stands pledged ; 
thinks, indeed, he will knock off that prologue after breakfast. lie is always going 
to knock off something after breakfast, but complains that he never can get a minute 
to himself. Still he feels in the vein this morning, and really an hour will be sutficicnt 
to carry out that intention. Meantime some devilled kidneys and an anchov .y, fol- 
lowed by the sedative of a pipe, is just the preparation that a man who means work 
would naturally prescribe for himself. 

The meal satisfactorily disposed of, the pipe fairly under way, and Mr. Brine puts 
out his writing materials. He traces the word prologue in bold, large characters at 
the top of a sheet, and then sits looking contemplatively at it, smoking placidly while 
he does so. Somehow, those ideas which came so easily to him in his bath all seem 
to have evaporated now that he has a pen in his hand. 

“Most courteous friends, I make my bow before you — 

Hang it, that won’t do. It doesn’t sound original. Besides, ‘ bore you ’ is the only 
rhyme I can think of just now. Suppose we shall, but it’ll never tlo to tell ’em so to 
start with. Extraordinary thing, inspiration ; I lost the thread while I was peppering 
that second kidney. To think that a mere kidney might suppress a poem. 

“ O gracious friends, who grace our play to-night — 

‘put to flight,’ ‘bite,’ no, that won’t do. Very curious; my rhythmical powers are 
usually of a high order. The fount of song seems dried within me this morning. 

“ O stalls and boxes, pit and gallery, hail ! 

We come before you with a favoring gale. 

That’s startling, if not quite connected. 

“ Our dramatic craft has got the wind abaft her. 

Her sails are bellying out with tears and laughter. 

That’s a good, bold simile, if they only understand it. Quite Dibdinesque in the turn of 
expression. The devil of it is, it don’t seem to lead to anything. Perhaps, if I took a 


Charlie Detfield's Affairs. 


119 


tarn, ideas would flow again.” So saying, Mr. Brine rose from his seat and walked 
up and down his room a little. Then he stopped, looked out of the window, and 
became interested in an altercation between a pot-boy and a solicitor’s clerk, that was 
being conducted with considerable asperity in the court-yard below. Having seen this 
little diflercjice satisfactorily adjusted, Mr. Brine indulged in some comments on the 
degeneracy of the English race. In his opinion, the clerk ought to have summarily 
chastised his opponent, — “ punched his head,” I think was the way Mr. Brine put it 
to himself. 

Tlien it occurred to him that he might as well knock off that prologue. 

“ Laden we are with comedy and farce, 

Yourselves the custom-house we hope to pass.’^ 

** Hum ! ” mused the writer, as he added the above couplet, “ if those are not reg- 
ular prologue lines, I don’t know what are. They are neither common-sense nor 
English, which is always a presumed hit in an amateur’s prologue. I don’t get on 
quite so fast as I might, but the composition of high-class poetry involves labor; 
yes, and now I come to think of it, beer ; ” with which Mr. Brine winked pleasantly 
at his inkstand, as if that article, from long experience, could quite enter into the joke, 
and then proceeded to shout for a myrmidon of some kind down the staircase. That 
individual at last appearing, and being despatched in search of the required refresh- 
ment, Eox Brine began once more to pace his chamber in pursuit of ideas. 

Suddenly there was a sharp tap at the door, to which, deeming it to herald the return 
of the messenger. Brine, without turning his head, briefly answered ; — 

“ But it down ! ” 

“ Do\yn it are,” replied Charlie Detfield, flinging himself into an arm-chair. 

“ Holloa ! it’s you, is it ? By Jove ! I’m hard at work, you know.” 

“ Exactly, and getting awfully thirsty over it. I overtook the fellow with the tank- 
ard, on the last landing, and it looked so cool, and the stairs so steep, that I drained it 
to give me strength for the remainder of the ascent.” 

“ You did ?-” said Brine, surveying his visitor. “ K the beer was about half as cool 
as you, it must have gone down pleasantly.” 

Charlie nodded. ^ 

“ Never mind ; I sent him back for some more. I’ve come to have a talk with you.” 

“ Fellows always do directly I sit down to work. I shall haye to change my abode, 
, and rent the top of the monument, or the diving-bell at the Polytechnic, or some 
other retired locality.” 

“ Don’t be edgy. Fox ; I want to talk over my affairs a bit.” 

All right,” replied Brine, throwing himself full length on a sofa. I am at your 
service, old fellow, to the extent of my abilities all round, you know. But Charlie, 
we never do make anything out of it, when we talk over your difficulties, beyond 
the fact that you are dipped past redemption. By the way,” he continued, philo- 


120 


Two Kisses. 


sopliically, “ it is very curious, but you never hear a prosperous man anxious to talk 
over his airairs with a friend. There’d be some comfort, too, in a discussion of that 
kind.” 

“ Of course you don’t,” retorted Charlie. “ You don’t see healthy men wishing to 
consult doctors ; it’s when we are ill we unburden ourselves of the history of our 
infirmities. Impccuniosity is my complaint, and I want advice.” 

“ No, you don’t, Charlie, you want money ; there’s plenty of advice about, if that’s 
any good to you.” 

“ But advice leads to money sometimes. You prescribed for me the other day, you 
know. Now, it’s very odd, but all the friends who are aware of how awfully hard 
up I am, give me the same advice.” 

“ What, — to marry money ? ” 

“Just so. I didn’t take kindly to the idea at first, but desperate causes demand 
desperate remedies. I have made up my mind.” 

“ Good ! you are going in for an heiress,” remarked Brine, sententiously. “Now, 
there’s very often a terrible flaw in the advice your friends give you on that point. 
My prescription, I remember, was deficient in one necessary ingredient. People tell 
you to marry an heiress ; that indefinite article is the devil. If they would point out 
the heiress.” 

“ 1 can’t complain on that point. The lady has been indicated. I have been 
properly introduced. I am making love to her now,” rejoined the guardsman, 
languidly. 

“You are?” said Brine, eying him keenly. “If you don’t throw a little more 
steam into talking to her than j'OU do into talking of her, I wouldn’t take twenty to 
one about your chance, my boy.” 

“ We are only in the early stage of courtship at present,” replied Charlie, speaking 
as tranquilly as if he was talking of something in which he had no personal concern. 
“ It would never do to frighten the old lady by being too demonstrative.” 

“ Ah ! she’s a little old, is she ? What do you call old now ? ” 

“ Well, you see, I don’t know her age exactly. Mrs. Paynter vow^s she’s old 
enough to be my mother; but that’s a libel. You know how women talk. She’s a 
good bit older than me, though.” 

“ Of course, if you go for money, you can’t have everything. By the way, I dare 
say you met Mrs. Gore before her marriage ? ” 

“ Yes, two or three times, when she was Mrs. Ilemsworth. She was a good deal at 
the Paynters’.” 

“ What do you think of her, Charlie ? ” 

“ I thought her a particularly agreeable, graceful woman. I should fancy Gore a 
fortunate man in his wife.” 

“ I’m glad you think so. lie’s a very dear friend of mine. Should have been 
something nearer, as you, of course, know. But I can’t say I did fancy Mrs. Gore 


Charlie Detfield’s Affairs. 


121 


when I met her the other night. However, that’s neither here nor there, and I hope 
I’m all wrong in the opinion I formed of her.” 

“ I haven’t a doubt of it. She’s as pleasant a woman to talk to as I ever met, and I 
am not quite sure whether she isn’t a very handsome one to boot; I know if ever I 
thought she wasn’t, I always recanted after talking to her for five minutes. Did you 
ever make out anything about Major Jenkens for me ? ” 

“No,” replied Brine, with considerable animation.x “The major is dark — very 
dark. I have talked to a good many people regarding him. That he’s a rather shy 
lot, I’ve no doubt; but I can’t pick up anything tangible about him. There are men 
who abuse him freely, and hint that he has been guilty of all sorts of enormities ; but, 
when you come to go into particulars, they can only whisper mysterious accounts of 
his having now and then won goodish stakes at play, and that he is well known to 
the bill-discounters. ' Sharp practitioner they call him, but nobody seems able to 
allege any instance of peculiarly sharp practice on his part. That he’s a bird of prey 
I think probable ; but, at all events, he does his ravening decorously. Don’t under- 
stand his taking such an interest in your marrying, Charlie.” 

“Nor I. He certainly never lent me money ; but, of course, he may be a partner 
in the transaction. He told me who to go to, but alfects to have nothing to do with 
it. Professes simply to buy and sell on commission anything, — houses, horses, 
carriages, white elephants, or white mice. You’ve seen him, I think you said ? ” 

■“ Yes ; two or three times in the park, — the other afternoon only.” 

“ Was he wearing spectacles ?” asked Charlie, laughing. 

“ No, certainly not. Does he sometimes ? ” 

“Yes; and I’d almost bet you a sovereign you wouldn’t know him when thus 
decorated. I never saw a man that it made such a ditference to. I don’t believe the 
old villain wants them at all, and when he has got them on I defy you to make any- 
thing out of his face.” 

“' It didn’t strike me as a face you would make much out of any way,” rejoined 
Brine, meditatively. “'But as far as he bears on your affairs there is no more to be 
said at present. I should like to know something more of this wooing of yours.” 

“ It goes on smoothly and tranquilly. I pay my visits to Barnsbury park whenever 
I am not on duty or specially engaged.” 

“ And you find you progress favorably with the old — beg pardon, I mean the 
lady ? ” 

“ Yes. I assure you she’s a very nice person. I like her immensely. Very 
pleasant'to talk to. She suits me admirably in every respect but one.” 

' “And that is?” 

“ Well, she’d make such a charming aunt or mother-in-law, it seems a pity that 
necessity compels me to make her a wife. I could get so fond of her from any other 
point of view. But what must be, must, I suppose.” 

“ You find it rather hard work, I presume, then ! ” exclaimed Brine, laughing. 

“Not at all ; as I said before, she is remarkably pleasant. Then the elder sister is 


122 


Two Kisses. 


extremely amusing, quite a character ; and as for the niece, — Bessie Stanhury is 
simply charming ! You never saw such a sweet girl. Fox. Her figure is perfect, 
and her eyes simply swim in their own loveliness,” concluded Charlie, after a short 
pause. 

“ Holloa ! I say, this won’t do, you know ! ” exclaimed Brine, springing up from 
his sofa. “ We know perfectly well what the result is in all comedies, when a man 
makes love to the aunt, and a bewitching niece appears upon the scene. ISIy dear 
Charlie, if this is your idea of going in for money, you won’t make much of the 
speculation.” 

“ By Jove ! you should see her on horseback, old fellow ! She can sit her horse, 
and never looks better than she does in her riding-habit.” 

“ I have no doubt Miss Bessie Stanhury is all you describe her ; but it strikes me 
you are making a fool of yourself,” said Brine, gravely. “Under the delusion that 
you are laying siege to the aunt, it looks as if you were falling over head and ears in 
love with the niece. That’s not whist, Charlie.” 

“ Pooh ! nonsense ! I know what I am about,” rejoined Detfield, pettishly. “ Of 
course I must talk to the girl when she is present. Besides, it is not forbidden, even 
when maiTied, to admire a pretty woman when you meet one, much less when you 
are only going to be.” 

“ If you don’t confine your admiration to the woman you seek to marry, it’s odds 
she is never your bride. Master Charlie. You don’t suppose the aunt will approve 
of your making sheep’s eyes at the niece, do j^ou ? and you can’t be such a fool 
as to suppose a woman will overlook that f ” 

“Never you mind. Fox,” replied Detfield, lazily. “It’s no use your preaching. 
Depend upon it, if a man can’t manage to win a woman himself, no male creature can 
teach him the trick of it. Besides, Miles Standish always made a great impression 
on me. I determined long ago never to ask masculine help in my wooing. It’s 
awkward when the lady makes response to such assistance with ‘ ^^^ly don’t you 
speak for yourself, John ? ’ You leave me to manage my own affairs.” 

“ Why, you ungrateful beggar ! ” exclaimed Brine, bursting into a roar of laugh- 
ter. “ That’s the way of the world all over. You come here bothering for advice, 
and wind up by requesting I’ll leave you to manage your own affairs. It’s too 
absurd.” 

“ So it is,” replied Charlie, joining in the laugh against himself, “ and we have 
arrived at the old conclusion, as you said we should, to wit, ‘ that I am past redemp- 
tion ; ’ further than that we never get. I tell you what, old fellow, the luxuiy 
of talking ’em over with a sympathetic friend is just the one pull of being in 
difficulties.” 

“Hear him!” cried Brine. “The serene philosophy of a virtuous nature that — 


“ ‘ Sees sermons in stones and good in everything.’ 


Whom Docs Ji€ Come to Cee? 


123 


One o’clock, by Jove ! I must put up my traps. I’m off to Nottingham this after- 
noon on business.” • 

“ Pack away,” obseiwed Charlie, placidly. “ I’ll look on.” 

Brine’s arrangements were soon made, and the myrmidon despatched for a cab. 
As the two friends shook hands. Brine paused for a moment, and then said : — 

“ This is not advice, Charlie, but prophecy. Mark me, you’ll marry the wrong 
lady.” 

“ What, of those two ? ” 

“ Of those two. Of course, I speak with regard to your difficulties.” 

“ Exactly. I’ll bet you five pounds I don’t.” 

*‘Done1” replied Brine; and his good-by was lost in the rattle of the hansom’s 
wheels. 

CHAPTER XXin. 

WnOM DOES HE COME TO SEE ? 

Charlie Detfield, as may be easily surmised, has paid a good many visits 
to Barnsbury park lately. He has, moreover, contrived to meet Bessie on several 
occasions in her rides, and has substituted a neat hack for the unfortunate bicycle, 
— his “first attempt at economy,” as he observes, pathetically, “crushed beneath 
the wheels of the people’s Juggernaut.” Miss Bessie, who detests street cars, 
instigated thereto in some measure by Velvet’s disdain of those vehicles, vows 
that expression is most poetical. But that young lady is scarce to be counted a 
fair judge of Charlie Detfield’s sayings and doings just now. She has met him, too, 
at more than one dinner and dance, contrived by the sagacious Robxy with a view of 
throwing the young couple together. Charlie no longer despises invitations beyond 
that famous outpost, “ the Angel.” 

“ It_is his duty to continue his pursuit of Aunt Clem,” he says to himself. “ That 
Bessie should always figure at these entertainments under her wing is a coincidence. 
Coincidences have considerable effect on our lives, but people never realize nor dream 
how they themselves contribute to coincidences.” 

Although Detfield invariably paid Aunt Clem great attention, it cannot be supposed 
that Bessie attached much significance to that. What tact he had, she thought, thus 
to propitiate her chaperone ; and Miss Clementina, pleased as she was at the studied 
courtesies of the young guardsman, only considered them an indirect tribute to her 
pretty niece. ^ 

If Aunt Clem did not consider that her dancing days were over, and that matri- 
monial chances were not as yet altogether beyond her attainment, still she had never 
pictured a man of Chai-lie Detfield’s years as an aspirant to her hand. If the elder 
Misses Stanbury were not so rich as their niece, yet they had a comfortable ten thou- 


124 


Ttvo Kisses. 


sand pounds apiece ; and Aunt Clem did know that there were middle-aged men who 
would consider that and a good-natured woman of her years a most desirable 
acquisition. 

But Captain DetfiekVs frequent visits began to attract the attention of Miss Matilda. 
She liked the young guardsman, dropping in with his light, lively gossip. He always 
paid her a deference, which impressed her very favorably towards him. Suddenly 
the idea Hashed across Miss Matilda ; — 

“ What docs he mean by all this continuous calling ? Young gentlemen of his age 
don’t come twice a week or so to see a lady of my years, be she ever so lively.” And 
Aunt Matilda considered that she could talk, although such frivolous conversation as 
held sway when Charlie Detfield was in the drawing-room was rather beneath her. 
“ Now, which was it, — that giddy-minded sister of hers, or the child, that was the 
attraction ? ” Miss Matilda always regarded Aunt Clem as a Higlity woman, who 
ought to be slightly ashamed of herself for her caprices ; not too old to marry, by 
any means, but who ought really to think of giving up dancing, and so on. As for 
Bessie, she persistently looked upon her as a girl too young for any man to think 
seriously about ; but she had observed, she thought, a levity about Captain Dettield 
that made it just possible he might be amusing himself by liirting with the child. 

Miss Matilda conceived that it was her duty to clear up all doubts on the subject 
forthwith. 

‘‘The sooner the better,” she said to herself. “Unpleasantness, if it’s going to be 
unpleasantness, like meat in hot weather, gets very, very unpleasant the longer you 
keep it.” 

At five-o’clock tea that day she opened her battery. 

“ Young women,” she observed, — “ though to call a chit like you a young woman, 
Bessie, is a moral absurdity, — I want to know who it is that Captain Dettield comes 
here to see.” 

“ I suppose all of us,” replied Aunt Clem, laughing. “ Give me some more sugar, 
Bessie.” 

“ Do you ? Then I regret to say, Clementina, you’re a fool. lie doesn’t come here 
to see ME.” 

“You’re not polite; and you are not all of us,” rejoined Aunt Clem, flushing 
slightly. 

“ You think he comes to see you, then ? ” inquired Miss Matilda, sharply. 

“ I have never thought at all about it, and most assuredly never that,” returned 
Miss Clementina. 

If her aunt had flushed Bessie Stanbury had felt that she was becoming scarlet all 
over at Miss Matilda’s abrupt interrogatories. But the youngest women are cunning 
of fence, when you touch upon their aflcctions. She turned her head after a second 
or two, and said, demurely, — the little hypocrite ! — 

“ Well, Aunt Clem, I think you ought to take this into consideration. He does pay 
you a deal of attention, you know.” 


Whom Does He Come to See? 


125 


There was a merry twinkle in Miss Clementina’s eyes, as she replied, with great 
solemnity : — 

“ Now I reflect upon it, he does. Matilda is convinced that she is not the attraction. 
Bessie seems to think I am. I suppose, then, I am the one that be comes to see.” 

“ Good heavens ! Clementina, and, thinking that, what do you mean to do ? ” 
inquired Miss Matilda, breathlessly. 

“It is a vciy difficult question to answer. I really don’t know. I should like to 
know what you both think ; for at present nothing occurs to me beyond being always 
glad to see him ; and, terrible-to confess though it may be, I am.” 

“ What ! — you think of marrying that boy ? ” shrieked Miss Matilda. 

“ He’s not a boy exactly,” observed Bessie, laughing. 

“ And, oh, dear ! he hasn’t asked me yet,” exclaimed Miss Clementina, with an arch 
glance at Bessie. “ Do you think he will ? ” 

“ Yes, I do,” retorted that young lady. “ And he won’t take * No ’ for an answer. 
Aunt Clem ; and you’ll not give him ‘ No ’ to take, — that’s another thing. And mind, 

1 will be a bridesmaid.” 

“ You won’t, my dear,” cried Aunt Clem, throwing herself back in her chair, and 
indulging in a peal of laughter. 

“ Clementina, your conduct is positively indecent,” said Miss Matilda, drawing her- 
self up in her most stately manner ; and how stately she could be, when instated, was 
scarcely to be conceived. Nothing ever did exasperate the good lady so much as a 
dim idea that a joke was being carried on at her expense. 

“ What ! ” replied Miss Clementina, recovering her gravity ; “ because I am reflecting ' 
what answer I am to give to an important question ? ” 

“It must be entirely your own fault if a boy like that presumes to ask such a 
question,” retorted Miss Stanbury, sniffing with indignation. 

Aunt Clem stole a sly look at her niece as she said : — 

“ But young men in these daj^s arc so presuming, — are they not, Bessie ? ” 

“ It’s not much to be wondered at, when the girls are so forward. When I came 
out — don’t laugh, you chit ! Do you suppose I was born two-and-forty ? — young men 
paid us attention ; but I see the young ladies of the present day have reversed all that. 
I’m sure at our dance I saw two or three young women who had put themselves in 
their partner’s place on that score. I suppose next I shall find that you and Bessie 
arc paying attention to somebody or other.” 

“ Aunt ! aunt ! what a shameful libel ! ” cried the girl. “ You have no right to heap 
up fresh charges without any foundation, in this manner.” 

"“Thank you for the hint,” replied Miss Stanbury, dryly; “we have rather wan- 
dered from the point. The question is, whom Captain Detfield comes here specially to 
see. lie doesn’t come to see me, and, much as I regret to wound Clementina’s vanity, 
I’m not altogether clear that it’s her.” 

Bessie repented her interference, and hung out palpable signals of distress at this 
unexpected change of Miss Stanbury’s views. That lady, though she had been 


126 


Two Kisses. 


carried away for the moment, was much too shrewd to he long deceived by her niece’s 
joke. She was indignant at the presumption of the pair in attempting to mystify her 
for a moment, and disposed to punish the delinquents, for one of whom, at all events, 
she had a rod ready to her hand. 

“Fray,” she continued, turning abruptly to her niece, “whom do you suppose to 
be the loadstone that attracts Captain Detfield to Barnsbury park, eh, miss ? ” 

But Aunt Clem came gallantly to the rescue, and took the answer to that question 
upon herself. 

“ My dear Matilda, she has told you already that I am the loadstone. Goodness ! 
I thought we settled that some time back. The question was, what was I to say to 
my admirer if he ventured to propose.” 

“The question rather is, what you can have said to induce him to take such a 
liberty,” retorted Miss Stanbury, so fiercely that her sister began to think that the 
joke had been carried a little too far. 

“Don’t be angry, Matilda,” rejoined Aunt Clem, in pleading tones. “Let us 
suppose it is Bessie.” i 

“ No, pray don’t,” exclaimed the girl, blushing. “ A'ou have no right to suppose so. 
I have no right to think so. Captain Detfield has said no word to me as yet that 
would justify me in such belief. Don’t be cruel. Aunt Matilda,” continued Bessie, 
springing suddenly from her chair, and coiling herself up at her aunt’s feet. “ You 
never tease me, you know, and you are doing so now. It’s not fair. I don’t like it, 
and,” she added, as she fondled Miss Stanbury’s hand, looking up into her face with 
a mutinous pout, “ I won’t bear it.” 

Miss Matilda’s face softened, as she stroked the girl’s shining tresses. 

“ There’s plenty of love made that’s unspoken, my dear,” she replied, after a short 
pause. “ And young ladies, for the most part, bear it very patiently, even when it is, 
although it may be by the wrong man. None of our sex ever wxrc, or ever will be, 
indifierent to a love-tale, even though our sympathies should not be with the teller. 
Bessie, my pet, I think you will tell your old aunt when the right man speaks, be he 
who he may. Now run away, child; I want to talk to Clementina, and not to you.” 

Bessie’s sole reply was to give her aunt a great hug, two or three kisses, leave a 
tear on her cheek, and vanish. 

But if Miss Stanbury had melted momentarily to her niece, it was not to be sup- 
posed that austere lady was altogether pacified. Ashamed a little at her own momen- 
^ tary weakness to Bessie, she resolved to give away to nothing of the kind with her 
sister. 

“ Well, Clementina,” she remarked, with the sharpness of a detonating pistol, as 
the door closed ; “ what have you got to say ? ” 

“Nothing,” replied Aunt Clem, meekly. 

“ Nothing ? And you have allowed this to go on under your eyes all the time, and 
tell me you’ve nothing to say. Here’s Bessie as good as engaged. Pooh ! don’t tell 
me,” she cried, as Aunt Clem made a deprecatory gesture ; “ when a girl blushes, as 


Whom Does He Come to See? 


127 


she did just now, at the man’s name, he’s only to ask and to have, did he but know 
it. It’s to be hoped he don’t. Now we know literally nothing of this Captain Det- 
field. Military morals I believe to be of the most unsatisfactory description. Officers, 
usually, I have heard, are addicted to all manner of unrighteousness. I don’t pro- 
fess to know much about them, but I have no reason to think that the Household 
Brigade, to which Captaij^ Detfield says he belongs, are more piously brought up than 
the other, — horse, foot, or artillery.” 

And, having so said. Miss Stanbury sat bold upright and glared defiantly at her 
unfortunate sister. She was speaking the exact truth concerning the army, according 
to her own lights. She did know nothing about them, and looked upon them all as 
wine-bibbers, etc. 

Miss Clementina bore her sister’s attack in silence. That Detfield admired her 
niece, and paid her considerable attention, she was aware ; but that anything serious 
was likely to come of it had never before entered her head. She felt dreadfully 
guilty, as if she had neglected a trust confided to her care. They did know next to 
nothing of Captain Detfield; it was too true. Again, was Bessie’s heart out of 
her own keeping already, as Miss Matilda asserted ? She began to fear it was so. 

I can’t help it,” she murmured at length. I never thought of his caring for 
Bessie, in that way, and I couldn’t inquire into the history of every man who asked 
the child to dance, or handed her down to dinner.” 

“ But when you saw her pei’petually dancing with one young man, I presume you 
might have made inquiries about him.” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know who from. I declare I don’t know who to ask about him 
now. I haven’t the least idea of how to make inquiries about Captain Detfield ! I 
can think of nothing but writing to the colonel of his regiment, and I don’t suppose 
that would do,” rejoined Aunt Clem, somewhat dolefully. “Besides, he dances a 
good deal with me.” 

“ I dare say. If you obseiwe, you will notice young men usually are very attentive 
to their intended mothers-in-law,” retorted Miss Stanbury, spitefully. 

But fiesh and blood could not stand this innuendo. Aunt Clem started to her feet, 
and with flushed cheeks exclaimed : — 

“ I’ll not stay here to be insulted, Matilda. I suppose it’s not too late to make in- 
quiries about Captain Detfield, even now. Besides, you began by asking whom he 
comes here to see.” 

“ True. Sit down, Clementina, and let’s talk the thing over quietly,” interposed 
Miss Stanbury, who saw that she had gone too far. “We must get somebody to 
ascertain all about Captain Detfield’s family and prospects for us. Bessie’s guardian 
is, of course, the proper person. I shall send for Mr. Boxby.’’ 

“ Yes, that will do nicely,” replied Miss Clementina, much mollified ; “ but there’s a 
wide distinction betw'een aunts and mothers-in-law, I’d have you to know. I never 
saw a young man dancing with his mother-in-law, though, perhaps, you may ; ” and 


128 


Two Kisses. 


SO savin", Aimt Clem swept out of the room, with a dignified rustle of her skirts 
most unusual. 

Miss Stanbuiy made no reply, but could not refrain from indulging in a grim 
smile as she saw how her shot had told. Verily, it was the old /ladei of the arena. 

# 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

A FAT^iL KISS. 

Cissy has made her appointment, and the morning has arrived on which she is to 
keep it. That she is fluttered and excited about this meeting is only natural. She 
has never known a soul in whom she could place implicit reliance, from the time her 
father so mysteriously vanished, until she married Montague Gore. She is just begin- 
ning to think she can do so in him; to feel that his presence is a protection from all 
ills in this world. She murmurs to herself at times, “ I feel so safe now Montague 
has charge of me. If I did get into a scrape he would pull me through it.” It is an 
immense thing for a woman, who has known wdiat it is to want a protector, to find 
herself once more in safe anchorage. To feel that there is some one to take care of 
her ; some one on whom she can thoroughly depend. He may not inspire any feel- 
ing of love, but he must of esteem and gratitude ; and these Cissy had most thor- 
oughly conceived for her husband. 

True, Mrs. Paynter had been a great friend to her, — really the one friend of her 
own sex she had ever known ; but no woman can ever stand to another in the light 
of a protector, even though she be her own mother. It is the prerogative of man, 
although there is a section of sexless women who apparently do not think so. That 
third sex, “ the Lady Mary Montagues,” has always existed; but I think they must 
have been pleasanter in the days gone by than they are in the present, if one may 
judge by their recorded sayings and doings. 

Cissy has selected Montague square for her interview. She does not know any- 
thing about it, further than that it appears to her to be always deserted. There are 
certain spots in London which one might almost presume to be uninhabited. Mon- 
tague square is one of these. The dwellers therein seem to leave and regain their 
homes in stealthy and mysterious fashion, and are never seen to take exercise in their 
own square. Cissy has merely noticed that it appeared to be a quiet place ; that it 
had the advantage of being near her own home. She has no thought concerning her- 
self in this respect, but she does look upon it that her father must have strong reasons 
for not wishing to be recognized, though what those reasons may be still puzzles her 
considerably. She did not understand his note on that point one iota. At the bot- 
tom of her heart she thought he had been very cruel to leave her all these years. 
How many times she had wanted him, he could never know. But her belief in him 
was unbounded, and he doubtless had good cause for his apparent desertion. 


A Fatal Kiss. 


129 


Her husband has gone off to his chambers, and Cissy sallies forth to her appoint- 
ment, arrayed in the latest Parisian mode, — one of those women with whom to dress 
well is as a thing of course. Like Marie Stuart, Cissy would have been dressed 
becomingly if treading the path to the scaffold. She understood economy little in 
any shape, but as regards her personal attire, not at all. She had always been taught 
not only to be well-dressed, but strikingly well-dressed. To accomplish that requires 
a good deal of money. But Cissy would have conceived her husband infinitely more 
entitled to find fault with her appearance than Avith her milliner’s bill, — an idea born 
of her first marriage, but Avhich a husband of more limited income, and Avith certain 
scruples as regards exceeding it, might be apt to demur to. 

Montague Gore has already had a slight revelation on this point, but Cissy knows 
well that, sooner or later, she aauII have to bring accounts for his settlement of this 
nature that Avill open his eyes considerably. She docs not trouble her head much 
about it as yet. She does not knoAV Avhether he Avill care much Avhen she does. 
These moderate means that he alludes to are so veiy vague. Some people call them- 
selves paupers on ten thousand a year ; but that a husband must Avish his Avife to be 
Avell-dressed is a fixed fact in Cissy’s creed. “Well, that cannot be Avithout some 
expense,” reflects Mrs, Gore. “ It is unfortunate, but my style does require good 
-things. Little Avomen can do Avith cheap materials. I can’t.” 

Mrs. Gore’s lesser sisters Avould have probably felt considerable vn'ath had they 
knoAvn her sentiments. No woman that lives ever considered herself unfitted for rich 
attire ; but Cissy kept her opinions on dress locked within her OAvn bosom, AALich, 
Avlien you have eonceived heterodox notions, is undoubtedly the most judicious thing 
to do. Usually Ave are anxious to promulgate them ; and A\diat very hot Avater Ave find 
eurselves in by so doing ! 

She arrives at Montague square, and has scarcely traversed one side of it before 
the Avell-knit figure she knoAVS so Avell approaches her. The major has no spectaCica 
•on upon this occasion. For, once in a Avay, the A’^eteran has lost sight of doing what 
he conceives his duty by his neighbor, and is fairly and honestly entrapped into 
genuine emotion. Midst the sullen, solitary life of plunder he habitually learls, this 
is the one soft spot, the one human affection he cherishes. -For Cissy he has made 
the one stupendous sacrifice of his life. For her he has triumphed over that innate 
selfishness, characteristic of love of all kinds. She thinks he Avas cruel to desert her. 
She little knoAvs AALat it cost him ; hoAV long he AA^avered and pondered over this, to 
him, terrible step, before he determined upon it. “ But no,” he thought at length, 
she is well and fairly launched upon the Avorld ; she shall not have a questionable 
father flying in her face.” None kneAV better than Major Jenkens hoAV quietly but 
bitterly society can allude to doubtful relations or antecedents. 

But they have met, and the major, clasping Cissy’s tAvo hands in his own, gazes 
anxiously into her face, as he exclaims : — 

“ I see you once more, my darling ! Well, happy, — is it so ? ” 

•“Why did you leave me, father, all these years ? What had your child done that 


130 


Two Kisses. 


you should treat her so cruelly ? No,” she continued, hurriedly, noticing the troubled 
expression of his face, “ I don’t mean that exactly. Of course you had good reasons ; 
but it came hard, you know, on me. I knew nothing.” 

“ No, nor I either. Cissy,” he replied, hoarsely. “ I never guessed I had married 
you to a blackguard. Nay, don’t interrupt,” he went on, as his daughter made a 
slight deprecatory gesture. “ I don’t want to pain you by abuse of Mark Ilemsworth. 
You know what he was as well as I do.” 

“ lie was my husband,” inter-posed Cissy, gently. 

“ True ; we’ll allude to him no more,” replied the major, as they passed slowly 
along the pavement. “ First, I want to know whether you are happy in this second 
marriage. Is Gore kind to you, child ? ” 

“ Yes, and more than that, considerate. I am his wife. I was Mark Ilemsworth’s 
plaything. Ah ! there is such a difference. He loves me so, it is a shame I cannot 
care more for him. I suppose it is not in my nature. Books tell me that women love 
once at least, but I don’t think that hour will come to me ; at least, not as I have 
pietured it to myself. I like him, I esteem him, but,” said Cissy, dropping her voice, 
“ I sometimes wish he would never kiss me.” 

‘‘ But why, child ? — there is surely nothing repulsive in the kiss’of one we only like.” 

“ I can’t tell you,” she replied, blushing, “ further than I feel I have no answering 
kiss to give him back. I was honest with him, father; I told him I had but liking to 
give, and he said he could be content to wait till he could win more. I blame myself 
that he has not done so, but I cannot help it.” 

“ And you were obliged to marry him, of course ? ” 

“ Yes ; what else could I do ? I was grateful to any one who would take care of 
me. You know I have no choice. I am a lucky woman to have fallen into the hands 
I have.” 

“But suppose. Cissy, it should turn out that you have a moderate fortune of your 
own, — what then ? ” 

“ I should be very glad, for my own sake and Montague’s. I don’t know what his 
income is, and I don’t like to ask him ; but I am afraid I am spending more than he 
will quite like. I know he has an idea that I have a marriage-settlement of some 
kind from Mark, if he could find out about it ; he always said you would be sure to 
know ; ” and Cissy looked a little inquisitively into her father’s face. 

“ You have,” he rejoined, shortly ; “ I do know all about it, and it is not gone in 
the general crash. I took care of you in that respect. It was tied up beyond Mark 
Ilemsworth’s control, and is on land in England.” 

“ I am so glad ! ” cried Cissy; “ so pleased to think that Montague will find I have 
not come to him empty-handed, after all.” 

The major paused for some few moments before he replied. To have a pull over 
his fellows was so incorporated with his very nature that it was not in him to relin- 
quish it all at once, even though Cissy might desire it. 

“ Listen,” he said, at length. “ You can’t suppose that I wish to defraud 3^011 of 


A Fatal Kiss. . 


131 


what is yours. The world calls me hard names, — many because I perceive and take 
advantage of its weaknesses and selfishness. Unscrupulous is, perhaps, one of the 
mildest epithets they attach to me. They have good reason. I don’t stand at trifles 
when it is to serve my own ends. I am not likely to flinch when it is to serve your 
interests. I prefer to keep all knowledge of this property of yours to myself for the 
present. I mistook Hemswoilh ; let us wait and see how this new husband of yours 
turns out.” 

“ I can trust him thoroughly,” cried Cissy, proudly, as she reared her head. ** He 
may never win my heart, if I have such a thing ; but I believe implicitly in his honor 
and rectitude. Montague would never ill-treat me, — would scorn to make away 
with any money of mine.” 

“ My dear,” returned the major, dryly, “ if you don’t love your husband, you are 
in a very fair way to do so.” 

“ I am nothing of the sort,” returned Cissy, with flushed cheeks. “ I wish I were. 
But I can’t imagine him doing anything mean.” 

“ No,” replied her father, scntentiously, “ perhaps not. I have lived longer than 
you, and know what flaws there are in the finest-looking diamonds when tested. 
You can never quite calculate upon how a man will take getting into difficulties, for 
instance. Don’t think, Cissy, I am insinuating for one instant that your husband is 
likely to do so. But I prefer to wait a little, and see how you get on together, before 
I hand over this nest-egg of yours to his control. Bemember, it is his to do what he 
likes with when he only knotvs of it.” 

“ It shall be as you wdsh,” replied Cissy, ‘‘ though, I assure you, I have no doubt 
of Montague. I don’t think it is quite fair for an extravagant wife, such as I am to 
him, to keep back any little property she may be possessed of.” 

“ Ah ! he calls you extravagant, eh ? ” rejoined the major, as he peered curiously 
into her face. 

“ Not exactly that; but he did say the other day that there must be bounds to our 
expenditure.” 

“ And you, no doubt, have a heavy milliner’s bill or two that you don’t feel quite 
comfortable about handing over to him ? ” 

“ I won’t admit that altogether,” returned Cissy, half laughing, yet w'ith some 
increase of color at the same time ; “ but I do wish they weren’t quite so big.” 

“What! — you have married a miser, then, this time, instead of a spendthrift ? ” 
inquired the major, sharply. 

Indeed, I have done nothing of the kind 1 ” cried Cissy, warmly ; “ but my hus- 
band has not so much money as Mark had, nor is he so reckless regarding it.” 

“ You are learning what it is to be without money in your purse, my dear ? ” 

“ Well, not exactly; but I am learning to feel the want of it, — that is, I haven’t so 
much to spend as I should like.” 

“ Mrs. Ilcmsworth could have formed but little ideas of economy,” observed the 
major, musingly. 


132 


Two Kisses, 


“ Mrs. Ilemsworth is dead,” replied Cissy, pettishly ; “ and a very foolish and 
rather unhappy person she was. I hope Mrs. Gore may be wiser, even though she 
be a little extravagant. But, father, I want to know why you have abandoned me all 
these years.” 

“ Humph! ” replied the major, as he carefully removed a piece of orange-peel from 
the pavement with his walking-stick. “ I will tell you. I have said they call me hard 
names, — gambler, adventurer,” he cohtinued, bitterly, — “with some amount of 
truth it may be ; but there are more than I, who sit in high places and move among 
the elect of the land. If you live by your wits, as it is termed, this stigma always 
attaches itself to you unless you are registered in the ‘ red book.’ My darling,” he 
went on, with a softened voice, “ I didn’t wish that you should suffer for your father’s 
sins. I had no wish that you should learn to blush when you heard him mentioned, 
— to dread his appearance in your drawing-room.” 

“ Do you think I could ever do that ? ” cried Cissy, as she passed her arm through 
his. “ I don’t care what you may have done, if it was fifty times worse than any- 
thing you have hinted ; to me you are still the indulgent father, who humored my 
every childish whim, who never was unkind till he deserted me. You must never do 
§0 again,” she added, with a slight sob, raising her moistened eyes to his. 

“ I think not,” replied the major, caressing the hand that laid within his arm, to the 
evident astonishment of a stray passer-by. “ It ivasn’t altogether a successful experi- 
ment last time, my dear, w^as it ? But, Cissy, it is still best I should keep away from 
you. We can write, meet now and then; but let me still remain unknown to your 
husband. Believe me it is best so, for the present. You will know always where to 
find me now. I am close at hand if you want me.” 

“ I shall often want you, father, dear, though not in the way you hint,” rejoined 
Cissy. “ I don’t anticipate more than a slight lecture from Montague, whatever my 
offending. But it is hard you will not set foot in my house.” 

“ No, child, no, decidedly not. Don’t let me make discord between you and your 
husband. You must be content to ignore your old father, except troublous times 
should come upon you. No remonstrances, Cissy ; it must be as I say. And now, 
good-by, dear.” 

“ It shall be as you wish,” she returned, meekly. “ I suppose you know best ; but 
I think you are wrong, father.” And, as she spoke, she lifted her face to receive his 
kiss. 

The major laid his lips lightly on her brow, and then said, once more : — 

“ Good-by, child. Remember, if the milliners’ bills get alarming, I have money, — 
ay, money of your own, when you choose to ask for it. Now, you had best trot 
home.” 

Cissy dropped her veil, pressed his hand, and then walked swiftly away. As she 
passed out of the square a gentleman half raised his hat to her, but, absorbed in her 
own thoughts, Mrs. Gore never noticed him. Muttering a slight ejaculation of aston- 
ishment, he pushed briskly onwards until he overtook the major, sauntering slowly 


Charlie Detfield's Wooing. 


133 


towards Oxford street. lie honored him with a tolerably comprehensive stare, of 
which the major, thinking over his interview with his daughter, was quite unconscious. 

It was the identical passer-by who had appeared astonished when he had seen the 
major caressing his daugliter’s hand ; and now his astonishment had changed to a look 
of troubled anxiety. 

“It was Mrs. Gore,” he muttered, as he strode rapidly down Gloucester place. 
“ The other was Claxby Jenkens; and — ! if I didn’t see him kiss her. I’ll mistrust 
my eyesight forever. My poor, dear Montie, I never liked the marriage ; but I little 
thought she would play you false before the chime of your wedding-bells had died 
out of our cars.” 

Deserted as I have described Montague square to usually be, it may be deemed a 
curious coincidence that the major and Cissy should be thus recognized. But the 
wrong person turning up at the wrong time, in the wrong place, is an experience that 
has happened to most of us. 

CIIAPTEB XXV. 

* 

CHARLIE detfield’s WOOING. 

Charlie Detfield has arrived at one of those crises which will occur in the 
lives of those who live not wisely, but too well. He has been looking forward to it 
for some months, with the imperturbable sang-froid with which he considers it is 
proper to confront both the ills and pleasures of this world. He has come to those 
last few days before the inevitable crash, when all attempt at further struggling with 
destiny seems useless ; when a man drifts aimlessly along, -wondering what manner 
of life may be in store for him. There is no particular use in economizing those few 
resources still remaining, in making the last money we can la}" our spendthrift fingers 
on, go far. It is only a question of weeks. Let the last days of the old life be 
pleasant, at all events. 

True, Charlie has what is not given to every man, — a chance of averting the 
coming catastrophe. He knows that the announcement of his engagement to a lady 
with money would cause the rapacious Simmonds to stay his hand, would induce his 
clamorous creditors to wait, at all events, till they should see what that wedding 
would do for them. Clearly he must be affianced to Aunt Clem ere many days be 
over, if he is to save a complete break-up. He has made up his mind that this thing 
is to be ; but he has hitherto been in no hurry to ask the question. Sooth to say, the 
idea of marrying Miss Clementina has grown much more distasteful of late. 

He rejected the first suggestion of setting himself straight by a wealthy marriage 
with great disdain. He has felt rather a contempt for himself ever since he yielded 
to the force of circumstances, — to the pressure brought to bear upon him, from 
more than one quarter, both persuasively and peculiarly. Most especially is he 


134 


Two Kisses. 


indignant with Lizzie Paynter, and no one of his advisers is more disinterested than 
she. It is difficult to make a man believe that the woman who professes to love him 
would not keep him to herself if she could; that she should prefer his interest 
befoi’e her own love is beyond his comprehension. There is a leaven of vanity and 
seltishness mingled with this said passion in most of us. 

Lovers’ quarrels are proverbial; and if you analyze such as fall under your 
notice you will find one or other of those sentiments at the bottom of them. 

But Charlie has determined to take the plunge without more delay. As he makes 
his way leisurely towards Barnsbury park, this bright June morning, — and never did 
a man proceed with greater deliberation on his mission, — he smiles bitterly to himself. 
He is mentally comparing it to that other plunge he made at Epsom, in the hope of 
relieving himself in some measure from his difficulties; when the judge’s fatal 
adverse verdict of a short head so infinitely more complicated affairs that really 
admitted of no further complication. Wlien condoled with by his intimates on that 
disaster, Charlie had rejoined with a phlegm that did credit to his training ; — 

“ It don’t matter much. If it had come off it would have been only out-door 
relief for a time, — the workhouse just as inevitable a little later, as now, you know.” 

Then — curious subject for a man to pursue on his way to propose for another lady 
— he begins to think of Bessie. lie muses over her bright face, over the soft brown 
eyes that are wont to fall beneath his own, over the girl’s frank, graceful manner. 
“ How very nice she is ! ” he thinks ; “ so utterly unspoilt by the stagey convention- 
alities of society. She don’t bore one with skating, princes, Ilurlingham, or the 
opera. Yes, a little enthusiastic about the last, perhaps ; but in such a different man- 
ner from the usual clap-trap. By Jove ! ” ejaculates Charlie, sententiously, “ if I 
were a little younger I’ll be shot if I couldn’t make a fool of myself, as Brine hinted, 
and fall downright in love with that girl. Yes, more in love a good deal than I ever 
did yet. Bah! you idiot! what have you to do with Aphrodite and her worship ? 
What you want is, — 

“ * A father-in-law eo wealthy and grand 
Ho could give checkmate to Coutts in the Strand, 

So, along with a ring and posy, 

He endows the bride with Qolconda offhand, 

And gives the groom Potosi.’ 

“Yes,” he continued, in jeering fashion to himself, travestying the golden poet; — 

“ * Gold, still gold, it haunts him yet. 

At the ‘ Golden Lion ’ he’s always met, 

A-tasting of golden sherries.’ 

“ I shouldn’t wonder if that’s what comes to me of taking a golden wife. What a 
thundering mean fool I feel just now, aud how jolly miserable for a man who is about 


Charlie Detjield's Wooing. 


135 


to ask a woman to make him happy for life ! I wonder whether she’ll have Bessie to 
stay with her when we are married. If I was a mature bride, I’d have no pretty 
nieces about the premises, — no, nor yet maids. Well, I think I’m decked for the 
sacrifice ; ” and Charlie cast a glance at the flower in his button-hole. “ Next time I 
tread these stones I suppose it will be as ‘ Benedict the married man.’ ” 

That Aunt Clem might say him nay, you see, never entered this young coxcomb’s 
head ; and yet Charlie Detfield had certainly no more conceit than the generality of 
men of his age and station. But he held a creed common enough among men of the 
world, to wit, that at the critical time of life at which Aunt Clem had arrived, an 
unmarried woman is rather solicitous on the subject of marriage. She feels her 
chances are slipping rapidly away from her, and that to say No now is, perchance, to 
have said No forever. Although she may have seen many of her sisters marry much 
later in life, she regards them as rather exceptional cases. Widows, of course, are 
like comets, as bafiling to the social philosopher in his observations as the latter to the 
astronomer. They abandon their weeds within a few weeks ; they adhere firmly to 
them for years, spite of earnest solicitation to the contrary. They arc women with 
experiences ; past masters, likely to know more of connubial bliss than those who 
would have them attempt it once more. 

But by this time, in spite of all his deliberation, Charlie has arrived at Barnsbury 
park. No nervous old lady could have taken such care of herself about the crossings 
as he has done. A cab, two hundred yards olf, and coming at a snail’s gallop, a 
veritable crawler,” was enough to make that active guardsman pause before risking 
his precious neck. 

Never upon any previous occasion had he been so struck with the contents of the 
shop-windows ; and if those in St. John’s street road can prove attractive, verily, a man 
must be easy to amuse. But though you may count the flagstones, and be particular 
about not putting your feet upon their joinings, you must arrive at last at your 
destination. We all know these terrible journeys to achieve interviews we would 
fain avoid ; that jerk at the bell, or nervous rattle of the knocker, which reminds one 
so vividly of the tug at the string in a February shower-bath. Well for us if we 
come out in the healthy glow with which that formidable tonic is supposed to endue 
us. Charlie has pulled his string, that is, bell, and is conscious of icy sensations down 
the spinal marrow. But he has wavered no jot in®his intention. He means to come 
out of that house Miss Clementina Stanbury’s accepted lover, unless all opportunity 
of asking her consent to that arrangement be denied him. 

^ The portly man-servant answers in the affirmative to his inquiries for the Misses 
Stanbury, ushers him upstairs, and pompously announces him. For a second he 
thinks the room is empty ; then he becomes aware of a cloud of diaphanous draperies 
in the recess of the window, and Bessie rises to greet him. 

“ Yes, she is all alone,” she says, the blood rushing to her conscious check, as she 
recalls that conversation of a day or two back, as to who it was that her visitor came 


136 


Two Kisses. 


there to sec. ** Aunt Matilda is keeping her room for a slight attack of neuralgia, 
and Aunt Clem is out, but she will be in before long, no doubt.” 

Charlie settles himself comfortably in an easy-chair, and is properly sympathetic 
about Miss Stanbury’s neuralgia. Of course, he must await Miss Clementina’s return. 
He has a duty to perform (I am afraid he regards it rather in that light), and cannot 
postpone the performing of it longer, as he well knows. In the mean time it will be 
very pleasant to have a long, lazy talk with Bessie. 

“ How is Velvet ? ” he inquired, smiling ; “ I think she is the only one of the family, 
now, that I have not asked after.” 

“Oh, Velvet is very well, almost too well,” replied Bessie; “she hasn’t had half 
enough work lately, and gave herself airs in consequence, yesterday.” 

“ What, misbehaved ? ” 

“ No, not that. Don’t you know. Captain Detfield, that Velvet is like her mistress, 
and never misbehaves ; but she was, what shall I say, rather uppish.” 

“ I see, danced a good deal, and hinted at kicking and rearing.” 

“ Just so, but it’s quite make-believe on her part. She never ventures to so really 
misconduct herself as that. She’s a bit of a coquette, I think, and institutes a mock 
quarrel with me when I don’t take her out regularly.” 

“ I, at least, can sympathize with you on that head. What hot water w^e men get 
into when we neglect our social duties ! ” 

“ Then you shouldn’t neglect them. Of course, we consider it bad manners and 
bad taste when 3^011 don’t come to see us,” returned Bessie, demurely. 

“But I plead not guilty, at least as far as Barnsbury park is coneerned. You 
make, I mean j^ou all make, the house too pleasant to allow one to keep a^yay.” 

The girl’s color rose a little, as wdth a gay laugh, she retorted, — 

“ Barnsbury park feels honored by Captain Detfield’s preference.” 

She did not quite approve of that “all,” — she had marked the correction. She 
could not guess that her visitor was trying to persuade himself that he had no 
predilection, at all events. If he did not feel quite so interested in INIiss Clementina, 
as a man should who had come to ask her consent in marriage, still Charlie did not 
wish to acknowledge an undue interest in any one else. 

“ By the way. Captain Detfield, do you recollect Minnie Bcndleshaw, — the pretty 
girl in blue, I introduced you to the ^ther night ? ” 

“Yes,” returned Charlie; “against succumbing to whose attractions you warned 
me so impressively.” 

“ Just so ! and veiy much obliged to me you ought to be. What might j^our feelings 
have been at learning she’s the bride of another ? ” and Bessie indulged in a mock 
melo-dramatic start, as slie made the announcement. 

“ Can’t possibty say what agony it might have occasioned. As it is, I’m tranquil. 
I couldn’t feel calmer if I were iced.” 

“ Well, I am not; I feel quite angry about it. Minnie really is a nice girl, and to 


Charlie Detfield's Wooing. 


137 


think that she is groin" to throw herself away on that old, ugly, disagreeable Mr. 
Hobbles is simply disgusting.” 

“ I presume Hobbles is possessed of some latent attractions not perceptible to most 
of us,” replied Charlie, languidly. 

“ Oh, she takes him for his money, of course. He’s rich as Croesus, you know. 
But she ought to be ashamed of selling herself in that fashion ; ” and Bessie threw 
herself back in her chair, with the prettiest possible pout of indignation. 

Detfield’s face flushed slightly ; it is not pleasant to hear the parallel of one’s own 
contemplated line of conduct commented on disdainfully. 

“ I suppose,” he said at length, “ these arrangements are necessary in our social 
system. You can’t have everything. Miss Rendleshaw hankers doubtless for dresses, 
jewels, carriages, etc., and she takes a man who can give her them.” 

“ As if a girl worth taking couldn’t do without all those things, sooner than marry 
a man she did not love.” 

I don’t know about whether she could,” rejoined Charlie, slowly. “ As far as my 
experience goes, there isn’t much disposition to try the experiment.” ^ 

^ “ For shame, Captain Detfield, I don’t believe a word of it ! ” cried Bessie, her 
eyes flashing with indignation. “ Cases like Minnie’s are the exception, not the rule.” 

“ When you have lived in the world a little longer, you Will change your opinion,” 
obsciwed Charlie, sententiously. 

I hope not. I trust not,” replied the girl, in quick, earnest tones. ‘‘ Of course 
one expects to encounter meanness and selfishness sometimes; but I shall be very 
sorry if ever I should come to regard them otherwise than as exceptional cases.” 

She colored slightly as she finished, and her eyes fell beneath her companion’s 
unmistakable gaze of admiration. A violent revulsion had taken place in Detfield’s 
mind during the last few seconds. 

“ May you carry that faith to your grave,” he replied. And you, — suppose this 
was your own case, that a man loved you whose own folly had ruined him ; who had 
been mean enough to cherish the idea of repairing his fortunes by a wealthy marriage, 
but who, at the last moment, was recalled to his better self by the w^ords that have 
just fallen from your lips.” 

Bessie’s heart stood still. She knew now that she loved this man. Was the fact of 
her being rich to stand between them, and that, too, from her owm foolish speech ? 

‘‘ I don’t think you understood me, quite,” she murmured, in a low voice. 

“ I hope so,” he continued, earnestly. “ Could you make up your mind to wait, 
Bessie, till this man retrieved his past sufficiently to offer you a home ? ” 

“ What could he mean ? ” she wondered. “ Surely he was speaking of himself ; 
asking her to be his wife, yet repudiating a wealthy marriage. Perhaps he didn’t 
call her rich ; with those he habitually consorted it might be lhat such fortune as 
hers was deemed of small account.” 

Won’t you answer me, darling ? ” continued Charlie, in low, pleading tones. 
“ Won’t you tell me that you can love and wait for me ? ” 


138 


Two Kisses. 


SheVas puzzled still; but her heart gave a great leap. lie was asking her to be 
his now, — that was clear. 

“ Xot a word for me 3"ct. Have I made a mistake, or is it that you fear to pledge 
yourself to a ruined man ? ” 

O Charlie ! Captain Detfield ! — you know,” cried Bessie. 

Apparently he did, for he drew her to himself and kissed her, and, as she buried 
her blushing face in his waistcoat, whispered into her ear : — 

“ Mine, are you not.? ” 

A little tremulous “ Yes ” was the sole reply. 

As a rule, I fancy there is not much said upon these occasions ; at all events, 
nowadaj's. When George the Third was king, perhaps it was dilferent. Did the 
lovers of those times preface the momentous question with a couple of pages of 
compliment and commonplace like Richardson’s heroes ? I suppose they did kneel. I 
wonder whether any one ever does now. A proposal I should imagine, in the “good 
old times,” loomed in the future for some months ; and the lover and his mistress 
mutually rehearsed what they would say, when it came about, for weeks previously. 
Nature, I presume, got the best of the conventionalities here and there. In our higl^ 
pressure age we cannot afford to spend so much time about it. We do our courting 
(I like the dear, old-fashioned word) quicker ; and a young gentleman of the nine- 
teenth century is no more nciwous about asking a lady for her hand than for her 
photograph. 

“ Bessie, my darling,” said Detfield, as he released her, “ do you quite understand 
vrhat you have done ? ” 

“ I think so,” she replied, smiling, — “promised to be your wife.” 

“ Yes, to be wife to a pauper, you understand ? ” 

Bessie nodded, and looked as jubilant as if he had said “ millionnaire.” 

“ Wife to a man who has not as yet even a home to offer you.” 

Again the girl nodded gayly, as she replied : — 

“ But I hope he will have some day.” 

“ And you don’t repent ? ” 

“You don’t give me much time, Charlie,” she exclaimed, laughing. “When I 
come to doing the grates, you know, ~ we shall be so poor, I suppose, that I shall 
have to do those, — then, perhaps — ” she stopped abruptly, blushed, and bowed her 
head. 

“ What ? ” he asked, anxiously. 

“ I shall thank Goil that I am married to the man I love best,” she continued, 
proudly, raising her frank, innocent eyes fondly to his. 

Bessie was very young, but she might have guessed what the sequel to such a 
speech was likely to be. 

“ Well, my own,” said Charlie, after one of those brief intervals which will occur 
in lovers’ conversations, not the less interesting to those concerned because the con- 


4 


An Embarras De Richesse. 


139 


versation has languished, “ if you will only wait for me, I will claim you before 
long.” 

“ I can wait and trust, Charlie,” replied the girl, gently. 

Remarkable is the confidence induced by this self-same passion called “ love.” 
Charlie Detfield knew perfectly well that he was a ruined man, and had almost as 
much idea of how he was to earn a living in the days to come as he had of solving 
the problem of perpetual motion ; but he no more doubted of his capabilities at this 
moment than he did of his existence. 

‘‘ Well, Bessie, it may be as long as two or three years ; but we shall see each other 
and write ; ” and here nothing further occurring to him to say upon the peculiarly 
hazy future, he stroked her hair fondly. 

But the sharp rattle of the door-handle causes the lovers to spring rapidly apart ; 
and Charlie could not forbear smiling as he rose to greet Aunt Clem, and thought 
what a mess he had made of his last battle with his destiny. He had come to win a 
wealthy bride, and stood affianced to a portionless girl. He had never thought much 
about what Bessie’s prospects might be, — dependent on her aunts, he imagined ; but 
had really troubled his head little on the matter. 

Although Miss Clementina rattled on carelessly on indifferent topics, she had 
observed indications noticeable only to a feminine eye, and drawn her own conclu- 
sions. Detfield cut his visit from this as short as he decently could, and no sooner 
had the door closed behind him than she said, quietly : — 

‘‘-I don’t know, Bessie; but I have an idea that you can tell Matilda for certain 
now who it is that Captain Detfield comes to see in Barnsbury park.” 


-oo>^< 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

AN EMBARRAS DE RICHESSE. 

Montague Gore still nurses his skeleton with all the assiduity that a man 
habituated to a,^solitary life is wont to devote to such grim bantlings. Long nights 
passed in chambers give a man much faculty for this species of self-torture, and he 
broods over his relations with his wife more than is good for him. Could he but see 
it, he is in a fair way to gain so much heart as Cissy may possess. There are women, 
as men, who are not overburdened with very mneh. Life perhaps runs more 
smoothly for such than for those with more acute susceptibilities. If they don’t 
enjoy the pleasures, they at all times avoid the pains suffered by their less phlegmatic 
sisters. 

Cissy so far lias been of the former class. A woman who has been accustomed to 
repress her feelings in her girlhood is not likely to part with her love lightly, — may, 
indeed, well-nigh stifle any capacity for loving by this unnatural training, — for to 


140 


Two Kisses. 


love in some fixshion is part of a woman’s nature. In high nervous organizations 
want of outlet for the aflections will kill as surely as if it were actually the consump- 
tion it is sometimes called. 

But Gore, jealous of his wife’s love, cannot see that he must call time to his aid ; 
that a Avoman such as Cissy cannot change mere liking into love at short notice. He 
has made much progress Avith her, but is altogether unaAvare of the fact. She is not 
a demonstrative Avoman, as may be supposed. She sIioaa's her feelings Avith some 
timidity. She cannot forget the jeers such a display had at times provoked from 
Mark IlemsAVorth in the early days of their Avedded life, and even yet cannot help 
fearing that any show of emotion may call forth ridicule. It is difficult for a man to 
discover Avhat advance he makes in the good graces of a Avoman like Cissy. 

Mrs. Gore has met her father upon tAVO or three occasions, since that first inter- 
AueAv in Montague square. The major, callous as he is to all other sentiment, is 
Avonderfully soft about this one passion of his scheming existence, — his love for his 
daughter. He separated himself utterly from her before, as he thought for her good, 
and Avhat came of it ? Better he had been there to restrain Mark IlemsAvorth in his 
brutality. He cannot sever all communication betAvecn them again. He Avishes to 
see her occasionally, to Avatch OAmr her, and yet to keep his relationship, indeed his 
veiy existence, a secret from her husband for the present. He Avants to be convinced 
that this second marriage has turned out happily, before he discoAmrs himself. Judg- 
ing from his OAvn knoAvdedge of mankind, he thinks that a man Avill look OA'cr the 
draAvhack of a father-in-law’s bearing a somewhat unsaAmry reputation, avIio should 
come to him Avith tAvelve hundred a-jxar in his hand. To disclose the history of 
Cissy’s settlement on her first marriage is to make that addition to Montague Gore’s 
income. 

On the other hand, should this marriage turn out unhappily, ho Avill keep all knoAvl- 
edge of ^hat settlement to himself, and draAv the income derived from it in his daugh- 
ter’s behalf. He knoAVS that the moment he appears upon the scene as Cissy’s father, 
he will infallibly be questioned as to Avhether there Avas no settlement on the first 
marriage. But as long as his Avhereabouts, or even the fact of his being alive, is 
unknoAvn, it Avill be difficult for any one to get at the truth regarding that subject. 
This settlement is made upon a large farm in Nottinghamshire, Avhich had been left 
to Mark IlemsAVorth by an uncle. The tenant Avas accustomed to pay his rent into 
the hands of certain bankers at Nottingham, Avho transmitted it duly to a French 
house through their London correspondents. But a business man like IIcmsAvorth 
had money constantly passing to and fro, from his Parisian bankers to various Lon- 
don houses, and vice verm. 

It Avas not easy to find the clue to this property Avithout a guide ; of course there 
Avas another trustee, hut he Avas the Avilling abettor of the major in his scheme, 
with A'cry hazy ideas regarding his legal obligations, a passionate devotion to Cissy’s 
interests, and a firm conviction that, Avhatcvcr else the major might be, his love for his 
daughter Avas no sham. 


An Embarras De Richesse. 


141 


The strength of a chain is limited to its weakest point, without reference to the 
stronger links. Your practised intriguers invariably have their weak link, usually 
overlooked in the complicated web they have woven. Accident hits it, and their 
scheme becomes nothing. Fate favors them, and the flaw escapes detection. Many 
notable frauds have come to light through the overlooking of some trifle, that it was 
scarcely conceivable their originators should have lost sight of. It is in the petty 
details that swindlers of the 'premiere force usually break down. Their conceptions 
are grand, they elaborate their plan’ with an assiduity and cleverness worthy of better 
things ; but a date, a name, a place, apparently of little consequence, escapes them, and 
their cobweb is rent past repair. They arc taken in their own nets. 

It has never occurred to the major that clandestine meetings with his own daughter 
may be misconstrued, should they chance to be witnessed. It is so impossible almost 
for a father to imagine that he could be deemed his daughter’s lover, that even this 
astute schemer may be forgiven for overlooking such a probability. It certainly 
never occurred to bluff John Paynter, when raising his hat to Mrs. Gore one morn- 
ing in Portland place, as she was walking with her father, that he was more than 
any other ordinary acquaintance, and it was with the idlest, commonplace curiosity, 
that two daj^s afterwards, when dining with the Gores, he inquired : — 

“ Who was your cavalier the other day, Mrs. Gore ? — a face I know well, but can- 
not put a name to.” 

“ When do you mean ? ” replied Cissy. 

“ On Thursday, in Portland place ; a good-looking man, with ham just shot with 
gray.” 

The major had eschewed his spectacles upon that occasion. 

‘‘ I don’t recollect,” replied Cissy, taken a little aback. 

“ Oh, ponsense ! you must remember. You returned my bow, you know. A 
shrewd, sharp face, and seemed as if his talk was worth listening to. I’ll swear I’ve 
seen him about town.” 

“Yes, of course; how stupid of me! Don’t you think you were rather rude not 
to stop and shake hands ? Really, Lizzie, you should teach him better manners. I 
declare, he all but cut me ; and you are responsible, my dear, for him on those points.” 

“ Of course I am,” returned Mrs. Paynter, seeing, with all the quickness of a 
woman, that her friend wished the conversation turned. “Are you disengaged on 
Wednesday, Cissy ? If so, I have a box at Covent Garden. Come with me; and hear 
Patti.” 

“ Shall be charmed ; and now I think we will go upstairs and look for some tea.” 

Montague Gore had not lost a word of this discussion. He thought very little 
about it at the time ; but it happening to recur to him, just after the Paynters had 
left, he also idly asked : — 

“ Who was your friend of Thursday, Cissy ? ” 

“ Nobody you know,” returned his wife. 

“ Perhaps so ; but I suppose he has a name,” obseiwed Gore, listlessly. 


142 


Two Kisses. 


Cissy paused for a moment, and then said : — 

“ AVell, that’s just what he has not, just now. I met him in Paris, and have known 
him for some 3"ears. lie does not want his presence in England talked about.” 

“ I don’t want to interfere with }mu. Cissy, but, however old a friend he may be, I 
think, under those circumstances, j'ou would be wiser not to walk with him.” 

“ You tell me not to,” demanded Mrs. Gore, a little shai-ply. 

“ Nothing of the kind. I have too much confidence in jmu to say an^dhing so 
authoritative. I merely suggested it were, perhaps, better not to do so, should you 
meet him again.” 

“ I understand,” replied Cissy, as she lit her bedroom candle, and walked somewhat 
moodily away to reflect upon this complication that had suddenly arisen in her new 
life. 

Gore mused a little upon who this mysterious friend of his wife’s Paris days might 
be. lie reflected that Ciss^" might have formed acquaintance in those times that it 
was by no means desirable she should keep up. No idea of jealous}^ had, as 3'et, 
presented itself to his mind, but the soil was ripe for the sowing. With his morbid 
feelings regarding his wife’s love for himself, there never was ground better adapted 
for the rearing of “ the green-eyed monster.” 

“ If I do prove her haggard. 

Though that her jesses were ray dear heartstrings, 

I’d whistle her off, and let her down the wind, — 

To prey at fortune,” 

would be pretty much the idea of a man of Montague Gore’s temperament. Men 
of this frame of mind sometimes both suffer themselves, and inflict needless tortures 
on women thoroughly true to them. And yet it must be said for Montague Gore that 
he was not a suspicious man. He believed implicith^ in the woman he had married, — 
in her honesty, in her rectitude. He 4vould have scorned to interfere with her selec- 
tion of acquaintances. lie knew she had been sorely tried, and firmly believed she 
had borne her temptations as few Avomen, so young as she then was, would have 
been capable of doing. Put he was painfully alive to the fact that, as j^ct, he had not 
won her love. He began to despair of ever gaining it. He had thought when he 
married that such entire love as his must gain response before long, she had been 
so truthful about her feelings wdien she accepted him. Alas ! she was so truthful 
still. She never condescended to simulate the passion she did not feel. He could not 
get over this. Esteem ! gratitude ! bah ! He wanted this woman’s heart. He craved 
for that way to “the side door,” which, as Wendell Holmes says, “opens at once 
into the secret chambers.” 

Breakfast was nearly over the next morning, when Cissy exclaimed, a little 
nervously : — 

“ Montague, j^ou must let me have some more money, please ; I am destitute.” 


An Entbarras De Richesse. 


143 


You really ought not to be,” he replied, gravely. “ I gave you fifty pounds only 
a fortnight ago.” 

“ I know, but things cost so much. I ought not, I suppose, to have spent it all, but 
I have, and there are the house-bills to settle this week.” 

“ Well, I cannot give it you now, for I’ve not above four or five pounds in my 
pocket, which would not be of much use ; but I will draw a check on my way to the 
Temple, and you shall have what you want this afternoon.” 

“ Very many thanks.” 

But, Cissy, my dear, do bear in mind I’m a man of moderate means. I don’t 
want to deny your right to dip your pretty fingers into my purse ; still, if you’re not a 
little more careful, the time will come when you will dip to no purpose.” 

“ I will try,” she replied; “ but, Montague, remember, it comes difficult to me. I 
have hitherto been taught only to spend money.” 

“A shocking preparation for thrifty housekeeping,” he rejoined, laughing. 
“ Never mind, you will learn in time. And now I must be off. Good-by, my wife,” 
and, having pressed his lips lightly on her brow, Gore took his departure. 

“ He’s very good to me,” muttered Cissy. “ I thought he would have said more 
about my spending so much monej". Moderate means ! I do wish somebody would 
explain to me -what constitutes moderate means. I must ask Montague how much it 
is a month, and how much again of that I may have ; and having ascertained all that, 
well, I suppose,” she continued, laughing, “ I shall spend double. The science of 
economy is the most difficult study I ever tried yet.” 

Her meditations finished, Mrs. Gore remembered that she had some shopping to do. 
If you are at all known, an empty purse is not the slightest impediment to that in 
London ; in fact, the only w'ondcr is the credulity of the West-end tradesmen is not 
more severely punished. A fashionable address, a brougham, the display of a little 
ready money to start wuth, and a very moderate stock of assurance, will induce credit 
past belief amongst them. Cissy, having issued her orders to one or two well-known 
millinery establishments in Begent street, turns down Conduit street; and as she 
enters Bond street finds herself face to face with her father. 

“ My dear,” exclaimed the major, ‘Iwhere are you trotting to ? Let’s turn into-. 
Berkeley square and have a chat.” 

“ Nowhere in particular,” replied Cissy, as she took his arm ; ‘‘ but, father, gossiping 
with you leads to awkward questions. Mr. Paynter, a friend of mine, passed us the 
other day in Portland place, and he wants to know wdio you arc.” 

‘‘ Curse his inquisitiveness ! ” rejoined the major, promptly. A species of Paul 
Pry, I presume.” 

“ No, father dear, he’s nothing of the sort. lie’s as good, straightforward a man as 
ever lived, has been very kind to me, and is a great friend of my husband’s ; indeed, 
it -was at his house that I first met Montague. It tvas put as an idle question of 
curiosity, but it -was awdvward,” 

‘‘ And what did you say ? ” inquired the major, as they turned the square. 


144 


Two Kisses. 


“Fell back, mon pere^ upon my sex’s usual -weapon in such time of difficulty, 
— evasion.” 

“ And it stood you in good stead ? ” 

“ Only moderately so ; if it hadn’t been for Lizzie’s quick tact, — that’s his wife, you 
must know, — I don’t think it would. But she saw I wanted the conversation turned, 
and she did it.” 

“ Ah ! well, then, there’s no harm done.” 

“Yes, there is; for INIontague took it into his head to ask aftenvards with whom I 
had been walking.” 

“And you told him ? ” asked the major, sharply. 

“That it was somebody he had never heard of, — an old Parisian acquaintance, 
who, for reasons best known to himself, did not wish his presence in London to be 
talked about. 

“ And that satisfied him, child, eh ? ” 

“ AYell, he said no more ; but suggested, under those circumstances, I had better 
not be seen walking with you. He was kind, father, as he always is. There was no 
must not, nor shall not, about it. He merely hinted that it was injudicious.” 

“And he was right. Cissy. I’m beginning to believe in this new husband of yours. 
A man who gives advice instead of commands to the woman he has made his wife 
deserves her attention, to say the least of it. It is a pity you can’t love him, child.” 

Mrs. Gore’s face flushed like a girl’s, as she listened to her father’s commendation 
of her husband, and it was in almost a whisper she replied : — 

“ I like him a great deal better than I did; am growing to like him better every 
day, I think. He is so kind, so thoughtful. I had to tell him to-day I wanted some 
more money, and I could see he considered I had spent a great deal more than I had 
a right to ; but all he said was that if I wasn’t more careful I should come to the 
bottom of the purse, and then it would be no use my putting my hands into it.” 

“But I told you the Other day I had money of your very own for you if you 
wanted it. I haven’t got it about me, but come along to my rooms in Charles street. 
I can give you a hundred of j’our very own money. Cissy.” 

“ That would be nice,” she replied, as visions of liquidating one or two outstanding 
accounts crossed her mind. “ Let us go.” 

It was very little way to walk, and Cissy speedily found herself installed in the 
most carefully calculated chair for comfort in the major’s most carefully balanced 
establishment. She smiled, as she noted all the old habits of order that she had been 
familiar with as a child ; not that she had ever lived much with her father, but she 
remembered well how punctilious he was wont to be on these points. Even now, as 
she threw her hat carelessly on the writing-table, he removed it and placed it quietly 
on another as more appropriate. And yet he was so pleased to have her there. He 
insisted she should have a glass of Avinc, dwed into a mysterious cupboard, and pro- 
duced a cobAvebbed bottle of port that he averred Avas supposed to be old, very old. 
He liunLed'out biscuits for her. This shreAvd, hard, cynical shearer of human lamb- 


An Embarras De Richesse. 


145 


kins fluttered about his daughter in a manner that those who knew him could not 
have believed. I don’t think there were many of his acquaintance would have 
^ believed in a soft spot in Major Jenkens. 

While Cissy sipped her port and nibbled her biscuit, the major had unlocked an 
old-fashioned walnut escritoire, from one of the drawers of which he took a roll of 
bank-notes. 

“ Give me your purse, child,” he said, as he crossed towards her, “ and I will fresh- 
stock it for you.” 

‘‘ Indeed it needs it sadly,” she replied, laughing, as she handed her neat morocco 
portemoiinaie over to him. “ It is pure ostentation carrying about such a useless 
article as it is at present.” 

There,” he replied, as he returned it after a few seconds, that’s better. Cissy. 
You will find ten notes for ten pound apiece when you next open it. Remember in 
future that I have a good deal of money of yours. You have only to write to me 
when you want some.” 

‘‘ Thanks, fixther dear ; and now I think I must run away. What a sweet daughter 
you’ve got! She drinks your wine, eats your biscuits, gets all she can out of you, in 
short, and then she’s off.” 

“ Ah, well, she’s got very little that wasn’t her own out of me this morning,” said 
her father, laughing. “ Good-by, my darling.” 

It Avas late that afternoon when Montague Gore returned home. That his wife was 
in was evident. Her hat, gloves, parasol, etc., Averc thrown carelessly on the table, 
Avhile the tea equipage stood Avaiting. lie sat doAvn, and, taking up the parasol, com- 
menced fiddling Avith it. In so doing, he displaced Cissy’s pocket-handkerchief, 
which discovered her purse, hitherto concealed. An idea struck him. lie threAV 
doAvn the parasol, and, draxving a note-case from his breast-pocket, selected some of 
the contents ; then, taking up the purse, he opened it Avith the intention of placing the 
notes Avithin it. To his surprise he found it Avell filled. He snapped the poile- 
monnaie to again and relinquished his intention. What did this mean ? Why on 
earth should Cissy ask for money Avhen she had plenty ? He didn’t knoAV how much, 
— he hadn’t counted it ; he had no intention of doing so, but that she had several 
bank-notes in her purse Avas evident. 

He sat for some time pondering over this enigma. He Avondered Avhether she 
Avould explain it. If she had all that money, Avhat made her come to him for more ? 
If she had not, hoAV could she haA^e procured it since breakfast ? When Cissy entered 
Rie room he placed his notes in her hand, Avith the brief remark ; — 

“ There’s Avhat you asked me for ; I hope it’s enough.” 

“ Thanks, yes ; you are very good, Montague, it is ample.” 

“ Why, you liaA'en’t counted it, Iioav can you knoAV ? ” 

“Oh! I’m sure it is; I can see it is,” she replied, nervously turning over the 
notes. 

Her heart smote her. She would have liked to have told him that she did not Avant 


146 


Two Kisses. 


it now ; that she had plenty of money of her own. But then how was she to do this 
without discovering her hither ? She Avas beginning to sec that this mystery the major 
thought proper to maintain regarding their relationship would involve her in endless 
difliculties ; but she never dreamt of breaking her promise to him. She raised her 
eyes, and fancied she detected a troubled expression in her husband’s face, but of 
course she could not ascribe it to its real cause. She thought he was perhaps still 
apprehensive of her extravagant habits. She smiled, as she exclaimed : — 

“ Don’t look as if you thought I should ruin you, Montague. I intend to make this 
go ever so much further than the last.” 

“ AVe’ll hope so. Cissy,” he replied, quietly. “ I shall Avatch your economies Avith 
great curiosity.” 

It Avas CAudent that she had no intention of explaining. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE PUMPING OF ME. TURBOTTLE. 

Mr. Brine haAung, Avith the natural incoherence of his disposition, andved at King’s 
Cross precisely three minutes after his train had departed, abandoned himself for a 
little to the abuse of the raihvay authorities generally. ReHecting at length that 
punctuality on their part Avas scarcely assailable in the journals, and his OAvn Avatch 
bearing testimony to the A'eracity of the station-clock, he ordered his portmanteau to 
be taken to the Great Northern Hotel, and determined to postpone his journey till the 
folloAving morning. 

It is curious to obseiwe Iioav differently people bear this little contretemps. I am 
supposing, mind, that the disappointment is not inx^olving momentous issues, or even 
very great inconvenience. There arc some Avho are so agitated at this commonplace 
misfortune, that you Avould suppose their A'cry future Avas involved in arriving at their 
destination by that particular train. Others phlegmatically pace the platform, study 
the book-stalls, ascertain their correct Avcight, and upon the Avhole rather enjoy 
themselves, till there comes to them another opportunity of starting on their Avay. 

I kncAv one philosopher avIio, scorning to be tied to time in any shape, ncA'cr looked 
at a BradshaAv. He drove to the station, and simply asked Avhen the next train started 
for Avherever he might be going. He said nothing amused him more than a big 
terminus. Some betake themselves to the refreshment-room, and console themselves 
Avith the floAving bowl. We, many of us, must remember Mr. Sala’s story Avhen he 
“ missed connection ” travelling in America, and had, as they say there, “ to lie OA’cr ; ” 
lioAV his tAvo philosophic felloAV-travcllcrs, producing a demijohn of Avhiskcy, called for 
hot Avater, and, sitting calmly doAvn on cither side of the stove, proceeded to abstract 


The Pumping of Mr. Turbottle. 


147 


themselves from all such mundane matters as trains, unpunctual or otherwise, arriving 
speedily at that state of beatitude in which one place is as good as another. 

Some there are who drive themselves to the vciy verge of idiotcy by furious study 
of Bradshaw, with a view to getting to their destination in a mysterious roundabout 
manner, meditating, for instance, at a London terminus going round by York to arrive 
at some place in Surrey. Others, of feeble lymphatic temperament, pass their time in 
heart-rending appeals to guards, porters, etc., and make frantic dashes at every train 
that goes off, — no matter for where. They have to be continually taken out of trains 
by the railway officials, and pour their sorrows undisguisedly, with much superfluous 
information concerning their families and pursuits, into the ear of the first stranger 
who is weak enough to listen to them. When their veritable train does start, they are 
usually in the middle of the recital of their wrongs, and have to be bundled into a 
carriage breathless at the last moment. 

But Fox Brine was none of these. After the first few minutes of exasperation were 
over, he had made his decision as before narrated. The next question was, what -was 
he to do with himself this afternoon ? Exercise ? Yes, he wanted exercise. Now in 
what direction should he take his exercise ? Suddenly it occurred to him that he had 
not called upon the Paynters since dining there. 

“ The very thing,” quoth Mr. Brine. “ I can just slip along the Euston road, and 
there w'e are ; the social amenities respected, and the liver kept in order all in one. 
Who wouldn’t be a slave to society ? Off she goes.” 

Mr. Brine rejoiced in the usual fortune which attends making a call some distance 
off in London, — ho was privileged to leave a card. When shall w’e arrive at that great 
social reform when an engraved post-card will be deemed sufficient acknowledgment 
of the wines and cakes we have consumed ? Idleness is the root of all calling,” 
quoth Dr. Desent. He is wrong. The bachelor wLo does his calls conscientiously in 
London can never be accused of idleness, and should be in a very tolerable condition 
for the 12th, unless he resorts to cabs or similar depravity, — broughams on credit, for 
instance. Married men expect their wives to take this duty upon their owm shoulders, 
and it is to be hoped either keep carriages for them, or pay the livery stable-keeper’s 
account without comment. 

Mr. Brine then bethought him of stretching across to the Marble Arch, and so 
tlu’ough Hyde Park to his club. “Better a dinner there,” he thought, “than a 
solitary evening at the Great Northern ; ” and thus it came about that he passed 
Montague square, and witnessed the parting betw^een Mrs. Gore and lier father. 

It troubled him a good deal. Gore w^as one of his oldest and dearest friends, and he 
liad much disliked the idea of his marriage with a woman of wiiose family he knew 
nothing, and of wiiose antecedents he kneiv so very little more. But Brine was a man 
of the w^oiid, and knew" that to attempt to argue with a man in love, especially w"hen 
he w-as of Gore’s age, probably results in a quarrel with 3"our friend, but nothing else. 
He had taken a dislike to Cissy, w"hen he met her at the Painters’. He could allege no 
reason for such dislike, — one of those instinctive antipathies w’e all occasionally' con- 


148 


Two Kisses. 


ceive, and to which some of us are so much more prone than others ; such dislike, at 
times, well warranted by further knowledge of tlie person ; at others, on more intimate 
acquaintance, admitted to have been absurd and unjust. Love at first sight, if not a 
frequent, is b}" no means quite so rare an occurrence as may be supposed. Prejudice 
against or in favor of those we meet takes place daily with most of us. 

Brine, the next morning, as he speeds on his way to Nottingham, meditates a good 
deal on that parting he had witnessed. How on earth could a woman in Mrs. Gore’s 
position keep up a clandestine intimacy with such a very doubtful character as Claxby 
Jenkins ? He felt certain that her husband kne4V’ nothing of it. "What hold had this 
man over her ? What terms must she not be on with him, to warrant his kissing her 
at parting ? Where could she have known him ? As he reflects over all these things. 
Brine, as we are all wont to do when puzzled, builds up a story for himself, based upon 
a little fact and a good deal of imagination. Yes, Mrs. Gore most likely made the 
major’s acquaintance abroad, during the lifetime of her first husband. He was an old 
lover, Avith Avhom she still thought proper to keep up relations, or she was too much in 
his hands to venture to break Avith him. Bear in mind, the major carried his years 
well, and Avas not yet fifty. There Avas nothiug the least absurd in supposing him still 
quite capable of proving a successful AA'Ooer, Avhile it Avas most unlikely that the real 
connection betAveen him and Cissy should CA'cr enter into Mr. Brine’s head. He had 
accounted for that meeting, as Avith his slender knoAvlcdgc concerning Mrs. Gore’s 
preAuous life most men in his place Avould have done. . 

“ There are tAVo questions noAV to put to myself,” thought Brine. “ First, how am 
I to ascertain A\diether Mrs. Gore is yielding Avillingly to the attentions of that scoun- 
drel, or Avhether he has simply got some hold over her Avhich obliges her to do his 
bidding ? Secondly, Avhat ought I to do ? I can’t sit still and sec thc‘ dearest friend 
I have on earth Avronged; and yet, though I mistrust her and don’t like her, it seems 
rather mean to take advantage of a Avoman in that Avay, and Avhispcr so foul a charge 
behind her back. I Avish to Heaven I hadn’t missed the train yesterday ; in that case 
I should have knoAvn nothing about it.” Then Brine reflected hoAV fatal interference 
betAvecn man and Avife inevitably Avas to the interposer. He kiicAV avcU that Gore 
Avas devoted to his bride. He kncAV further that, though not easy to provoke, he Avas 
a man of violent temper Avhen roused. It Avas quite possible that he Avould regard 
him. Brine, as a Aule traducer, and thrust the scandalous accusation on one side Avith 
vehement contempt. 

It Avas a difficult situation to be placed in, and the more Brine mused over it the 
more bitterly did he curse the evil destiny that caused him to miss his train in the first 
instance, and to penetrate to the Avilds of Montague square in the second. But the 
train glides into the Nottingham station, and, having secured his portmanteau. Brine 
betakes himself to the “ George,” from Avhich. hostelry he intends to prosecute his 
researches regarding the IlcmsAvorth race. 

He had seen the lace and hosiery metropolis but once before ; then it Avas agitated 
with all the shrieks, cries, croAvd, fun, and laughter of the Goose Fair. Noav it is 


The Ptimping of Mr. Turbottle. 


149 


Kottingham the quiescent that lies before him, — Nottingham the sleepy. Not a 
dozen people to bo seen in the big, dusty market-place ; only a few loiterers in the 
broad, burning streets. All provincial cities arc given to a siesta ; it is only in this 
huge, bubbling, eddying London of ours that the roar never ceases. Nottingham 
sleeps; but Nottingham will be lively enough when the factory bells ring at six', as 
signal that the day’s work is done, and the hands pour into the streets for a breath of 
fresh air before going home to their suppers. 

Sanguine as Mr. Brine had been in Mr. John Paynter’s dining-room, confidently 
as he had asserted that he would find lots of Ilemsw'oi’ths, now he had arrived at the 
scene of his researches he felt a little puzzled how to begin. He moved listlessly about 
the streets, reading the names over the shop doors ; there was infinite variety, but he 
never met the name he wanted, lie put the question confidentially to policemen, 
trades-peoplc, street-loungers, etc., with an case and affability all his own ; but, as he 
remarked to himself, though expressed differently, it all comes to the same thing, — 

they knows nothing of no llemsworths.” 

“ It strikes me,” mused Mr. Brine, as he sat smoking a solitary cigar in the 
George coffee-room, “ that I have found an occupation. Nottinghamshire is a 
tolerably large county. I wonder how long it will take to go over it, knock at every 
door, and inquire if a party of the name of Ilcmsworth lives within ? Wheugh ! I 
have it ! ” he exclaimed, giving vent to a jubilant whistle-. “ What a fool I was not to 
think of it at once ! Here, waiter, get me the county directory.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“Pens, inks, and paper. Ah! and some brandy and water; the directory will be 
dryish reading.” 

Mr. Brine pursued his researches calmly and resolutely. ‘‘ It won’t take quite so 
long as walking round the county,” he muttered ; “ but it’ll take some time to get 
through this. How confoundedly thickly populated they appear to be in these parts 1 
If the inhabitants ran about half a dozen to the square mile, I should get on better. 
Ha ! here we have a Ilcmsworth at last, — a miller at Soutli^ell. I don’t suppose he’ll 
do ; but it’s something to catch a Hemsworth of any kind. I don’t think I pledged 
myself to do more than produce llemsworths. Good again ; here’s another, a widow, 
I presume ; keeps a chandler’s shop at Mansfield. They don’t read like llemsworths 
with propert}', these.” 

Here Mr. Brine’s studies were interrupted by the entrance of a sleek, clean-shaved 
little man with quick, beady black eyes. 

“ Indulging in the Aveed, I sec; may be you’d not object to my pipe. All right, 
William,” he continued, turning to the Avaiter, as Brine nodded assent. Sip of gin, 
cold, and a clean clay. I can’t a-bear cigars, sir; I knoAV too much about ’em.” 

“ IIoAV so ? ” asked Brine, looking hard at the stranger. 

“ Bless your innocence, I Avas in the trade once ; I knoAV how they’re made, — AA'hat 
a Tommy Dodd-ing business it is, — hay, cabbagc-leaA^es, chopped straAV. No, sir, I 
likes tobacco.” 


150 


Two Kisses. 


“ AVhy, it’s Mr. Turbottlc,” exclaimed Brine, extending liis hand. 

“ Beg pardon, sir. I don’t remember.” 

“What, not the Goose Fair, and the ingratitude of the British public ? ” 

“ AVhy, if it aint the noble gladiator, dash my wig ! This is a start, rum thing, 
coincidences, sir.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” inquired Brine. 

“ Just this ; last time we met was in this very room, and I aint been in Nottingham 
since ; and it’s likely you aint either.” 

Brine admitted that it was so ; but inquired whether it was the unthankfulness of 
Nottingham that had caused Mr. Turbottle to, metaphorically speaking, shake the 
dust of that city from his feet. 

“ No, sir, no ; if you had been in the travelling or Tommy Dodd trade as long as 
me, you’d reckon up the public pretty much as I do. Curse ’em, there’s no knowing 
where to have ’em; a woman aint half so changeable as the B. P. You’re their 
favorite to day, and they’d tear your ‘ pitch ’ down to-morrow. What they’re mad 
for one week, they don’t care about the next. The only thing you can’t get to an end 
of is the feminine weakness for cheap jewelry, and the masculine vanity for hearing 
themselves talk, among wot they calls the democratic classes.” 

“Ah, you tind that so ? ” interposed Brine, much amused. 

“ 1 tell you what it is,” said Mr. Turbottle, solemnly, “ I never met a young woman, 
who had three and sixpence, could resist my electro-plated brooches at that tigger; 
and they tell me your countesses has the same weakness, only, in course, they goes 
for the real tiling. Jewelry, sir, is the great weakness of women, whether it’s licads 
or diamonds. There’s more girls ruined from love of finery than aught else. But 
might 1 ask what brings you into these parts ? ” 

“ Certainly ; and it’s just possible you can help me. I want to discover if a certain 
Mark Ilemsworth ever lived in these parts.” 

“ Mark Ilemsworth! ” ejaculated Mr. Turbottle, with visible astonishment depicted 
in his countenance. 

“ Exactly ; I see jmu know him,” retorted Brine, sharply. 

“ 1 never said so,” replied Mr. Turbottle, relighting his pipe with considerable 
display of being much engrossed in the performance. 

“ Not in words ; but your face said so, plainly.” 

“Tlien my face lied, ’cause 1 didn’t.” 

“ Y'ou know him by name, though, if not personally,” exclaimed Brine, eying his 
companion keenly. 

“ IMay be 1 did, and may be I didn’t,” said Mr. Turbottlc, scntentiously. “What 
might you want to know for ? ” 

“ Vv'ell, that’s my l)usincss. Did you } ” 

“ 1 aint going to answer any questions about him. As you say, it’s your business 
and none of mine. My own affairs arc quite enough for me to attend to,” observed 


The Pumping of Mr, Turhottle, 151 

Mr. Turbottlc, throwing himself back in his chair, and commencing to smoke 
furiously. 

This man does know something about Mark Ilemsworth,” thought Brine ; “ but 
he is not going to tell me anything concerning him. How to make him speak ? ” 

“ Now, Mr. Turhottle,” resumed Brine, at length, “ I -want a little information 
coneerning Ilemsworth’s family and early life. If you can or will give it, ITl make 
it worth your while.” 

“ Not a bit of use talking, sir,” retorted Mr. Turhottle, stiffly. ‘‘ I don’t say I can ; 
but if I could I wouldn’t.” 

“ But why not ? What is your objection ? ” 

“ Because I won’t,” returned the worthy Turhottle, showing a perspicuity in his 
reasoning of a somewdiat feminine order. 

Brine was on his mettle ; he considered his reputation involved in the discoveiy of 
Mark Ilemsworth’s antecedents; but he was much too experienced a man of the 
world to press his companion further on the point at present. It was clear to him 
that he had lit upon a man, who in all probability could, if he w^ould, give him the 
information he sought. It was equally clear to him that Mr. Turhottle, for causes 
best known to himself, was not to be persuaded, either by bribery or argument, to 
part with his knowledge just now. A bright idea flashed across him, — liquor might 
loosen his companion’s tongue. lie changed the conversation, and proposed that Mr. 
Turhottle should join him in a bowl of gin-punch, — a subtle, insidious compound much 
in vogue in those parts ; cool and innocent as mother’s milk to the palate, but with 
all the elements of intoxication therein, as those that have drank it at ITorncastle 
Fair can testify. 

Mr. Turhottle assented gleefully, but the experiment was not a success. Pouring 
gin-punch into the Trent was as likely to upset the eourse of the stream, as pouring 
that liquor into Mr. Turhottle was to throw him off his balance ; store of anecdotes, 
observations on men and manners, lloAved freely from his lips ; he smoked, jested, 
and got extremely genial ; but farther than that he did not go, while his capacity for 
punch, it soon became evident to his entertainer, far exceeded his own. 

AVheri Fox Brine awoke the next morning, he had indistinct memories of difficul- 
ties about lighting his candlestick. He found that his watch had unaccountably 
stopped, and became conscious that if anybody had succumbed to the insidious temp- 
tations of gin-punch, it had not been Mr. Turhottle. On inquiring for that worthy, 
he learned that he had departed early, but whither no one could say. 

^ “ Had the clue, and it has slipped through ray fingers,” quoth Mr. Brine, sadly, 
over his tea and toast. ‘‘ What a fool I was not to ascertain his address ! If ever I 
try to make a countryman drunk again, may I be, — well, spifflicated is a good word, 
and can’t be worse than the headache I am at present afflicted with.” 


152 


Two Kisses, 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

MONTAGUE GORE REMONSTRATES. 

It is a sad moment when we first conceive distrust of her we love, when we com- 
mence to doubt her protestations of afFcction, when it dawns upon us that the golden 
charm is broken, when the letters wax shorter and fewer, when we know that some 
other has taken that place we once thought permanently our own, when we grimly 
reflect that, — 

' “ Woman’s love is writ on water, 

Woman’s love is traced on sand ! ” 

Men take it diflferentl}" ; cynically as in the above ; bitterly as Siebel sings, — 

“ Me she deceived, and thee she’s deceiving; 

Devil that she is — whom there’s no believing.” 

Pliilosophically : “ The person you love most is the person with whom you can stay 
longest without being bored,” and it is fair to presume we bore her. It is better so, 
perhaps, then that our liaison should have continued till she bored us. It is well to 
retreat gracefully from such a position, and relieve the lady of our love. Friendship 
may be possible, though love lies dead, — a pale phantom crowned with withered 
roses, — souvenirs of the beaux moments that have departed. 

There are sore hearts and wet lashes on such occasions. It it not given to cither 
men or women to attain philosophy always upon the shattering of their day-dream. 
Passion does not, unfortunately, die simultaneously, and on one side or the other 
there is usually bitter regret. Those light loves, such as the butterfly bears to the 
' flower, are perhaps to be envied; they leave but slight sting behind them. “A little 
glow, a little shiver,” and that is all ; but when one conceives a serious passion, it is 
diflerent; then one sutlers. We may jest and mock, but we do. We can’t take it 
all out in work. 

Picture to yourself a man, his very veins thrilling with passionate love for the 
woman he has won to himself fo!' a wife. Think of this man yearning for that 
answering love which he has hoped for, and feeling that he has not the power to 
quicken this w'oman’s pulse-beats one to the minute ; that the kiss that responds to 
his is cold and passionless as the adored of Pygmalion before life was transferred 
into the marble his hand had wrought. Picture to yourself his gradually becoming 
hopeless of moving this heart for the quickening of which he so thirsts. Think of 
him feeling sadly and dejectedly that all the wealth of love he had to throw at her 
feet lay there unacknowledged, unanswered. 


Montague Gore Remonstrates. 


153 


Remember that this is no boy, in the wild infatuation of a first glamor, but a man in 
his prime, loving with all the fierce strength of a man’s passion. Then conceive its 
dawning upon him that she he has made his wife is cariying on an intrigue with 
another ; tliat this woman, who is as stone to him, has married him with a favored 
lover in the background ; that she has wedded him as a mere convenience, that would 
enable her to live without being a drain on the resources of the man of her choice. 
Fancy all this, and you will have some idea of the ghostly phantoms that are now 
whirling through the brain of Montague Gore. 

For it has come now to Gore to be a witness of his wife’s parting with the mys- 
terious stranger to whom John Paynter had alluded. No great scene ; nothing more 
than a few words of earnest conversation and a pressure of the hand had he wit- 
nessed. Although some distance off, he recognized his wife. He would have scorned 
to be a spy upon her ; but he was on his way home, and overtook her a few seconds 
afterwards, — no possibility of a mistake. It was undoubtedly Cissy ; the man had 
turned abruptly up a by-street, and he saw him no more. 

He asked her no question, and she said no word concerning her acquaintance. 
But it rankled bitterly in his breast nevertheless. Again and again, that evening, did 
he turn the conversation upon whom she had met in the course of the day ; but, 
though Cissy mentioned a good many people, she had no idea that he had witnessed 
her parting with her father, and said never a word on the subject; of course it was 
not likely that she would. Had she known her husband had seen it she •would have 
been mightily perplexed, and what she might or might not have said regarding it is 
dubious. 

Women are invariably, from the instinct of their sex, more accomplished in false- 
hoods than men. There are many cases in which modesty compels them to conceal 
the truth. Things pass under their eyes in life which it is incumbent upon them to 
I)retend not to be aware of. Few of even the highest of them but must have had 
their cars shocked at times by language unfitted for their hearing ; and they arrive at 
knowledge of which it would seem almost preposterous to suspect them. The lunatic 
asylums furnish melancholy instances of this ; of girls brought up in all the purity of 
home using speech in their madness which it is difficult to conceive they could have 
ever known. When a girl loves, her first impulse is to conceal it. How many have 
said a man nay from no other cause than this, though they have yielded willingly 
enough to further pressure. But that women lie with better grace tham men is a fact 
attributable to their natural modesty, which teaches them the necessity of, in some 
measure, practising that art. 

Montague Gore is suftering fierce torments. To that temble suspicion of having 
lavished his love upon a woman whose heait is of marble has succeeded the dire mis- 
giving that she loves another. He is cherishing the passion of jealousy, — a plant that 
requires little forcing. Gore hugs it to his breast closely, and it grows apace. How 
was it his wife came by all those bank-notes ? Who is this man that she meets and 
never speaks of ? Easy to see now why she remains all unmoved by his passionate 


154 


Two Kisses. 


d(;votion ; the citadel is already occupied. Cissy’s heart is no longer in her own keep- 
ing; she loves another — is, perhaps, already this man’s mistress. No, he will not do 
her that wrong ; surely she cannot be so fair and so false, lie thinks of the proud, 
pure face, and says it is not so. Yet when women meet men unknown to their hus- 
bands, what does it mean generally ? 

Again and again does he return insidiously to this point during the next few days. 
He is so miserable that he thirsts for some explanation. If she would but allude to 
having met this man, he fancies all might perhaps be cleared up. But Cissy docs 
nothing of the kind. She begins intuitively to feel that her husband has conceived 
suspicions of some sort concerning her, and resents them w'itli no little indigna- 
tion. It has never occurred to her what interpretation could be placed upon these 
secret interviews. That her father could be deemed her lover is such an utter 
absurdity that it never entered her head. She docs think that her husband might 
forbid her to see him, and then Cissy ’wonders sadly what it is that he has done to 
place himself without the pale of society. 

Well, it does not signify; he has ever been a kind, indulgent father to her, and 
give him up She ■will not. She does not want this question to arise between her 
and Montague. She has conceived a very great regard and esteem for him. She 
is quite conscious of all his patient, watchful attention. She knows how her 
tastes, how her comforts have been studied, and what she prizes far more, is the 
courteous deference to her opinion, the quiet way in which her husband consults 
her on all points. Even the perplexities of his business he talks over with her 
fr6ely. 

To a woman who, in her previous marriage, had been alternately petted and 
insulted, but had never been treated as a rational being, with a mind that could com- 
prehend anything higher than dress or pleasure, this was inexpressibly sweet. Cissy, 
too, had learnt much during these last few months. She had naturally excellent 
abilities, and had mixed of late with cultivated people, who, though they worked, and 
worked hard, yet did not conceive that money-getting and display were the sole 
objects of life. She had met men who, though they had a sufficient appreciation of 
the luxuries and comforts that wealth confers, yet held that turtle, venison, and rare 
wines, without “ good talk,” did not constitute a satisfactory dinner, — men who 
regarded a -woman, whose claims to their admiration were based solely on her face 
and the perfection of her toilet, with no great reverence. They required something 
more. A pretty doll, however exquisitely dressed, did not satisfy them. They 
required a woman with ideas, and the power of expressing them, — not a mere figure, 
all smiles, satin, and simper. 

At last Montague Gore determines that he will speak out. lie will ask his wife 
who is this mysterious stranger. Anything would bo bettor than the cruel fancies 
that haunt him now. To know her false would not be so bitter as to doubt. To 
mistrust the woman we love is torture. To have knowledge of her guilt is the first 
step towards burying our love. Our j)ridc is then thoroughly roused; that con- 


155 


Montague Gore Remonstrates. 

tempt for treachery inherent in our nature flames out. Even the felon looks clown 
upon his friend who turns queen’s evidence. We despise the woman who betrays us ; 
one cannot love where one scorns; but one can understand, looking back regret- 
fully at the dream that has fled, when the coquetry was as yet but teasing in our 
eyes. The sighing forth, like Sophie Arnould, — , 

“ Oh, le bon temps I J’etais bien malheureuse*” 

Even that, perhaps, is better than our present desolation. 

It is after dinner. Gore and his wife are in their bright, cheerful drawing-room ; 
he pretending to look over some papers, she playing dreamily on the piano. Cissy is 
no great musician, but music has a strange effect upon her. You could almost swear 
to her mood if you heard her fingers running over the instrument when alone. To- 
night she is apparently somewhat sad, to judge by the mournful melodies that fall 
from her lingers. At last she gently closes the piano, comes across to the fireplace, 
and leans listlessly on the mantel-piece. 

Cissy,” says her husband, struggling hard to make his tones indifferent, “who 
was it you were speaking to th^Nday before yesterday when I overtook you ? ” 

It has come at last then. She knew it was impending. How shall she meet it ? 
She hesitates for a moment, not that any idea of subterfuge has enterediher head, 
but she wants to think what is best to say upon the subject. 

“ He was an old friend, Montague, one of my very oldest; one who has been very 
kind to me in times gone by. But I cannot tell you his name. He has implored me 
to keep his presence in this country a secret.” 

“ If you met him by accident, I have no more to say,” replied her husband, in 
slow, measured tones ; “ but Paynter mentioned having seen you with an unknown 
individual, who was doubtless the same.” 

Cissy paused for a moment, then, rearing her head defiantly, exclaimed : — 

“ I met him by appointment upon both occasions. ” 

“ Then I demand to know who it is you meet thus.” 

“ I cannot tell you. I have promised to keep his secret. Montague, can you not 
trust me ? ” 

“Yes, Ido; but the world is uncharitable. A wife’s fame should be in her hus- 
band’s keeping. Cissy, give me your word you. will not meet this man again, and I 
say no more.” 

He gazed at her anxiously. It was no unreasonable request; no more than he had 
both right and reason to demand ; and yet such was his love for this woman that his 
heart stood still as he listened for her reply. If she should refuse, then he felt there 
must open a gap between them he would never bridge. 

“ I will not,” she said, proudly. “ Have you so little faith in the woman you have 
made your wife as this ? Does the love you have professed mean tluit she is to know 


156 


Two Kisses. 


nobody without your leave and license ? that she is to drop old friends because you 
have never yet met them ? Have you no belief in me, Montague ? ” 

“ Don’t be absurd, Cissy,” he replied, in somewhat husky tones. “ I have no wish 
to control your movements, or supervise your acquaintance ; but I may be allowed to 
object to your meeting a man clandestineh", of whose very name I am ignorant, 
without being deemed a very tyrannous husband either.” 

Still it never cnterec^ her head that he could think it possible that she was granting 
rendezvous to a lover. She only thought that he feared her being compromised in 
the world’s eyes, by owning to an acquaintance on whom that world looked askew, 
as her father had cordially owned it did on him to a certain extent. That her father 
could be deemed her lover, under any possible circumstances, would always be very 
slow to occur to a daughter’s imagination. What she would have seen at a glance in 
any other case than her own, what would have been transparent to a woman of the 
world, as Cissy was, under any other circumstances, she was utterly blind to now. 

“ You intend, then, to control n^ movements,” she cried indignantly. “ Am I to 
consider myself under surveillance, — that my outgoings and incomings are watched ? 
Speak, sir, is that your intention ? ” 

Yes, it was as he had thought, — this thing would breed bitter quarrel between them ; 
but Montague Gore’s face hardened, and his lips were drawn tight as he replied in a 
deep, stern voice : — 

“ You have no right to say that. It is a sharp taunt to hurl at me. What I wit- 
nessed was by purest accident. What 1 heard Paynter say, you heard also. I would 
scoi’ii to watch you in any way ; I have no intention of doing so. I forbid you to see 
this man again. If it comes to my knowledge you have done so, I shall then take 
such steps as I deem necessary.” 

If he had said, “ I ask you not to see this man again,” instead of “ I forbid,” Cissy 
might have answered differently ; but the spirit of defiance was roused in her now. 

“ I decline,” she replied haughtily, “ to pledge myself upon the subject. To watch 
a woman is to distrust her.” 

“I never -watched you, and never will,” he broke in passionately. “For God’s 
sake, go your own way ! Don’t blame me if I should refuse to bear with it.” 

She was touched by his evident emotion. She felt more tender towards him at this 
moment than she, perhaps, had ever done before, though she was trying him so 
hardly. It is often so. Many a quarrel would have ended happily, if cither could 
have seen midst the angry words the one second when the gleam of the old sunshine 
flashed through the storm-clouds. But we never do. That soft answer that turneth 
away wrath is so seldom given. 

We hurl back taunt for taunt, and gibe for gibe. Between those who love most 
are ever the most unappeasable quarrels. The sharp word, the stinging sarcasm, 
comes doubly home from the lips of those we love ; and then there is another version, 
the old story : — 


Montague Gore Remonstrates. 


157 


Alas ! they had heen friends in youth; 

But whispering tongues will iioisou truth.” 

Ah, well, we all know how our friends take good care such wounds are never 
healed again; how angry speech made in the first tumult of passion is faithfully 
reported to those ears it should never reach ; and the abyss widens day by day, till<it 
becomes unbridgeable in this life. 

Cissy remained silent for some minutes, but there was a marvellous softening in 
her voice when she spoke. 

“ Montague,” she said, gently, “ what is it you suspect ? What is it you fear ? ” 

“ I suspect nothing,” he returned, and knew that as he uttered the words he lied ; 

but I fear much.” 

“ What ? ” 

“ The wreck of my life’s happiness. You persist in your right to meet this — this 
adventurer. I’ll call him.” 

“ Yes, I must. Trust me, Montague. It is not my OAvn secret, or you should 
know it this minute. It will be cleared up ere veiy long. Can you not believe in me 
for a little ? ” 

She came across to him as she said this, and leaned over the arm of his chair caress- 
ingly. It was a great concession for Cissy to make, for, as we know, she was little 
addicted to such blandishments toAvards her husband ; but he was bhnd to everything 
but this fierce jealousy which possessed him. 

“ Say you will see him no more, and I will believe in you,” he replied, curtly. 

“ I cannot do that,” she replied, quickly, and turning abruptly from him. 

“ On your head be it, then,” he rejoined, roughly, “ if my trust is shaken. You 
know how I have loved you. Suspicion is a canker that makes love die apace.” 

** You are right,” she rejoined, sharply, as she lit her candle. To be suspected 
without just grounds is folly, I have heard in my old Paris days. You need not fear 
that of me, Montague ; but the man who cannot trust his wife is stuffing his couch 
with thorns, believe me, Good^night; ” and she swept from the room with proud 
indignation. 

You might have deemed she retii'ed an outraged wife had you seen that exit. 
Surely her husband had fair grounds for remonstrance. But women will apparently 
put us in the wrong upon such occasions, do we our spiriting wisely and gently as 
we may. 

- As for Gore, he sat for some time with his head buried in his hands. He had 
raised a wall between him and his wife that would not be easy to pull down 
again. He felt they were wider apart now than ever ; and yet, if he had but 
responded to that overture on her part generously, he had been nearer winning her 
lore than he had ever been yet. As it was, his thoughts shaped thentselves some- 
what in this wise : — 


158 


Two Kisses. 


If you loved me ever so little, 

I could bear the bonds that gall; 

I could dream the bonds were brittle : 

You do not love at all.” 

♦ - 00 >«< 0<5 

CIIAPTEU XXIX. 

WHAT SHOULD YOU CALL RICH ? 

When Bessie’s engagement was formally announced, there was much flutter and 
agitation in Boseneath House. Aunt Clementina congratulated the girl heartily ; but 
Miss Matilda took a different view. She asserted mat military men were a class 
upon whom no reliance could be placed; that they were here to-day, and gone 
to-morrow. When Miss Clementina hinted that was the common lot of humanity, 
she rebuked her sharply ; — 

“ You know w^hat I mean, Clem ; so don’t pretend jmu do not. Y'ou know they 
never know w^here they may be this time twelvemonth. Poor Bessie may find her- 
self on the borders of the Dead sea, or in the deserts of Astracan before many months 
arc over. Captain Dctfield, of course, must go w’hcre duty, or glory, or wdiatevcr 
it is, calls him. lie may be summoned to kill black people in Africa, or copper-colored 
ones in Asia. In these times, apearently, civilization always requires that battles and 
sieges, and such things, should be taking place somewhere. Why couldn’t she choose 
a clergyman ? There’s safety in that. But these soldiers, oh, dear ! they’re always 
away, and ‘ find in each port a new wife,’ as somebody says in a song, or a play, or 
something. I believe, certainly, that was said relative to the navy ; but the army, I 
dare say, is no better.” 

!Miss Matilda, in short, for two days made Boseneath House very uncomfortable. 
She told her sister that she ought to have seen wdiat, in truth, Miss Clementina had 
seen ; that she ought to have prevented it ; that she should have given her a hint of 
this some time ago, and she would have soon sent Captain Dctfield about his business. 
In vain did Aunt Clem urge that the guardsman was a very nice match for Bessie ; 
^liss Matilda set her face against soldiers. They were men of neither morals, piety, 
nor principles ; their trade was murder. Why could not her niece have chosen a 
husband from a more peaceful profession ? The Beverend Alexander Sadman, the 
evangelical light of Islington, had deigned to admire Bessie, and professed a desire to 
snatch her as a brand from the burning. But here Bessie retorted so fiercely, vowing 
that, if there were not another man alive, nothing should induce her to bestow her 
hand upon that clergyman, that Aunt Matilda felt a little cowed. 

At the expiration of the two days she had arrived at resignation. Well, they must 
make the best of it. Thanks to Clementina’s folly and Bessie’s obstinate infatuation 


WJiat Should You Call Rich f 


159 


there was no more to be said. She hoped she had done her duty ; she had warned 
her. But when Bessie had nestled up to her, with her own sweet smile, and 
whispered, “Won’t you do one thing more. Aunt Matilda, — congratulate me?” 
the good lady fairly broke down, cried a little, and replied, “ Bless you, child, may 
you be happy, though he is a soldier.” 

“ You’ve got over me, my dear,” continued Miss Matilda, when her emotion had a 
little subsided ; “ the next question is, Avhether you can get over Mr. Boxby. Be- 
member, Bessie, he, like myself, is your guardian, and rather a more important 
guardian than I am; you have always wheedled me into letting you have your own 
way, since you were a wee thing in shoii; petticoats ; but Mr. Boxby, my darling, is 
made of sterner stulf.” 

Quite prepared now is Miss Matilda, with all the inconsistency of her nature, to 
take her niece’s part against Boxby, should it bo necessary, — take it, too, with strong 
prejudice in favor of this lover she has so lately condemned, with an obstinacy and 
disregard of argument known only to her sex. 

“ It was very clever of you, Charlie,” said Miss Bessie, one afternoon, as they sat 
by themselves in the drawing-room, “ to point out to Aunt Matilda that the army, 
besides fighting abroad, were the upholders of the crown, church, and order at 
home.” 

“Well, you see, pet, it was necessary to disabuse Miss Stanbury of the idea that 
we were mere hired bravadoes, whose mission it was to go on continual cut-throat 
expeditions into foreign lands. I don’t really think we have much to do with uphold- 
ing church and state, and all that soil; of thing. I only know that the fellows, who 
talk sedition at the foot of the Nelson column, won’t find us fraternize as the soldiers 
do in Paris ; as the old song says : — 

“ ‘ Ere the king’s crown goes down, there are crowns to he broke.* 

The demagogues needn’t imagine we shall not stand to our colors, if they ever ven- 
ture to try the question ; and our men follow their oflicers.” 

“Well, never mind that now. Lwant to talk to you about something much more 
serious.” 

“ What a disloyal little girl it is,” replied Detfield, laughing, — “ as if anything could 
be more serious than the safety of the crown and our institutions.” 

“ Now do be serious, Charlie ! You have got to see Mr. Boxby, and you know he 
maj say — ” 

“ That you are much too good for me,” interrupted Detfield. “ He will be right, 
— you are.” 

“ Stop ; do listen to me,” cried the girl, as she moved across to his side ; “ I have 
something to tell you.” 

“ I am all ears, rryx replied her lover, as he passed his arm around her slender 
waist, and drew her closer to him. ^ 


160 


Two Kisses. 


“ Well, you know, I am afraid lie will object to our engagement.” 

‘‘ Let him ; what does it matter ? You have promised to wait, and I am afraid 
before I can claim you it will be past his power to object. You will have the right to 
dispose of yourself without reference to E-oxby.” 

” But, Charlie, suppose I have some money ? I am so glad I have, for your sake.” 

“ What do you mean ?” inquired Detfield, curiously. lie had no suspicion as j^et 
that she was an heiress. That she might have some little of her own was, of course, 
pos’sible. 

But I have a good deal of money, at least what I think a good deal of money. 
What should you think a good deal for your wife to bring you ? ” and, as she spoke, 
she raised her head from his shoulder, and peered inquisitively into his face. 

I have never thought one atom about it, Bessie. I took, jmu for yourself, sweet. 
If I had thought you were rich, I don’t think I should have ever asked you to be my 
wife.” , 

“ Be quiet, Charlie,” replied the girl, extricating herself a little from his close 
embrace. “ I want to know what you would call rich for me.” 

“ You are rich enough in yourself, child. What makes j^ou so vain of your small 
fortune ? ” 

“ But it isn’t small,” she replied, in quick, earnest tones ; at least, I’m told not. 
What wmuld you consider a big fortune to get with your wife ? ” 

What is it you mean ? I don’t understand you.” 

“ Answer my question.” 

“Well, if you have three or four thousand pounds of your own, Bessie, it would 
be pretty pin-money for you, child.” 

“ But I’ve a great deal more than that,” she cried, with sparkling eyes, and clap- 
ping her hands. “ Your wife, sir, will be a rich woman.” 

He had solved now the one thing she was so curious to know. She knew he 
had taken her for herself, but what she did wish to learn was what he Avould consider 
a fortune. 

Detfield gazed at her in blank bewilderment, and his face of blank astonishment 
redoubled the girl’s merriment. 

“ Listen, Charlie,” she exclaimed at length, throwing her arms round his neck. 
“ You thought we were going to be, oh, so poor! Well, we are not. I shan’t have 
to clean the grates, and you won’t have to addle your brains money-making either. 
I am the proud possessor, they tell me, of — Stop ! guess, — guess, I insist.” 

But he remained mute. 

“ Did you say ten thousand pounds ? Not near enough, Charlie. No, twenty won’t 
do. I believe I have thirty to bring you ; and, my darling, I give it you with all my 
heart,” and the soft lips sought his, and the remainder of her speech was of a kind, 
which those who have loved can imagine, but those who narrate cannot describe. 

Detfield was dumfounded. He had paid these Islington visits with most mercenary 
motives. He had paid strenuous court to Mammon, and all the while the purer love 


What Should You Call Rich ? 


161 


had eclipsed it. He had failed lamentably in his scheme, and yet it seemed that he 
had wooed and won Danae, after all. It was impossible to look upon Bessie’s sweet 
face and doubt the truth of her statement. He had broken into the brazen chamber 
unwittingly. 

Are you not glad, Charlie,” she said, at length, ‘‘ to find that we shall not be 
quite so poor as you thought ? ” 

The troubled expression of his face frightened her ; and still he sat mute, though 
holding her close in his arms, 

“ My darling, I am not quite sure,” he replied, slowly, at length. What looked 
so easy just now appears very differently after your confession. I had no idea of this. 
It’s God’s truth I thought you were portionless. That you might have money some 
clay I deemed probable. But, Bessie, I wooed you for yourself, and never counted 
upon such chances. Do you believe ? ” 

“Yes, entirel3\ I know it.” 

“ Well, 3"ou see now, speaking to your guardian becomes a very different thing, I, 
a ruined spendthrift, am going to. ask for the hand of a girl of fortune. When I 
thought you had next to nothing it seemed simple. As it is, he has a right to object, 
and object strongly.” 

“ Let him ; what does it matter ? The time must come when my money will be 
my own,” cried the girl, proudly. “ I said I woidd wait for you and trust in 3^ou, 
Charlie. Do you think I am less likely to do it now than when you thought me 
penniless ? ” and she gazed anxiously into his face. 

“ But, Bessie, they will tell you that you can do much better than marry me.” 

“ Thpt happens to be a question Bessie, sooner or later, must solve for herself. She 
tells you now that j^ou have won her heart. If you love me, Charlie, you’ll not 
blench because there may be difficulties in the way.” 

Detfiekl looked at her for a moment ; but the proud, passionate love that he read 
in her eyes would have made most men swear to win her, let the obstacles be what 
they might. 

“ God bless you, child ! ” he whispered, as he kissed her. “ With a fortune or 
without, you’re mine, are you not ? ” 

“ Yes, with a fortune, Charlie,” she replied, smiling, and looking up into his face. 

“ Better so for both our sakes. But I am off now to confront this guardian of 
yours. He has been civil enough to me whenever I have met him; but present 
circumstances may change his tone. A chance acquaintance and a candidate for the 
hand of his heiress ward are very different men.” 

“ Hush, Charlie dear ! no more about the heiress if you love me. You are going 
to ask my guardian’s consent to our engagement ; and, remember, I am as anxious as 
you to know what he sa^^s.” 

“ Good-b}’’, sweet. I will send j'ou a note this evening to tell you what ma}” l)e the 
result of our interview.” 

Once more the lovers’ lips met, and then Detfiekl tore himself away. 


162 


Two Kisses. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

MR. ROXBT AS A GUARDIAN. 

Much too earnest in his love was Detlield to dream of postponement of his inter- 
view with Roxby. We all know that laissez aller stage of fast life, when the main 
point is to put off the disagreebles as long as possible ; when the facing of our diffi- 
culties is a thing to be deferred as long as feasible, know it, also, when we have 
sobered down, and such things are supposed to be circumstances of the past. We 
withhold from the wife of our bosom the results of that last disastrous speculation. 
We delay, yes, would fain always delay, confiding to our friends the failures we have 
made ; wonderfully reticent we are always about these failures. When our play, 
novel, or investment has turned out a perfect fiasco, how we do gloss it over, and 
demonstrate that it is malevolent fortune only that is the cause of our weeping and 
wailing ! Does the man exist who will own to having Avritten a bad story, a bad 
drama, or embarked in unsound speculation ? No, my brethren ; critics, the public, the 
stock exchange, etc., know naught. It was the Fates that were against us. What a 
blessing to think it Avas fate and no shortcomings on our OAvn part ! IIoav comforting 
to reflect that Ave, at least, have nothing to reproach ourselves Avith ! 

Charlie Dctfield, as he Avalks doAvn to the city to see Mr. Roxby, ponders a good 
deal, as is natural, upon Avhat he knoAA^s of this guardian of Bessie’s : a pleasant, 
jovial, genial gentleman, in vast expanse of white Avaistcoat, Avitli tics to match, more 
voluminous than suit the guardsman’s idea of dress. But he is aware that breadth 
of necktie is associated Avith the consumption of turtle, and the manufacture of 
money. He tolerates these little eccentricities of evening toilet as a part of the 
vocation to Avhich Roxby is affiliated. Charlie reflects that he has seen country 
gentlemen of good repute and high esteem in their several counties Avith similar pro- 
clivities regarding costume. But Avhat he tries hard to recollect is Avhat he can of 
Roxby’s manner ; in short, Avhat manner of man is Roxby. 

A A^ery difficult problem to solve that till you test it. Your genial friend over night 
turns out a A^ery hard man to do business Avith next morning. Do you recollect that 
story of the Lord Mansfield, Avho, after passing a pleasant evening Avith Dr. Brocklcsby, 
happened to have that illustrious physician brought before him as an evidence in some 
case the next morning ? The doctor nodded affably, as he entered the Avitness-box ; 
the judge took no notice, but Avdien he came to'sum up he alluded to him in this Aviso ; 
“ The next Avitness is one Brocklesby or Rocklesby, I am not sure Avhieh, and first he 
SAvears that he is a physician.” 

No, you cannot quite arrive at tlie conclusion as to Avhat a man is, if you luiA-e only 
met him OA'cr port-Avine and Avalnuts. And tliis Avas aliout the extent of Detfield’s 
knoAvledge of Roxby, But he Avas no whit the less determined on this account, in 


Mr. Roxby as a Gttardian. 


1G3 


homely phrase, to have it out with that eminent financier. Still he did wish that he 
knew a little more about Roxby. He had indistinct visions of having, upon two or 
three occasions, treated that gentleman with supercilious indifference. What was 
Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba? He had little thought, then, that Roxby might 
have a good deal to say to a most important step in his life. It is ever so ; and a care- 
less jest or cynical remark often mars a man’s career more than he dreams of. That 
is why the stupid people, who can’t talk, so constantly beat their more brilliant com- 
patriots ill the race of life. To be a good listener is to forward your interests in this 
world. To be a good talker is a very dubious advantage. 

At last Detfield arrives in Fenchurch street, the place in which Roxby transacted 
his multifarious business ; for he was a man of much speculation and enterprise, this 
guardian of Bessie’s. He was always floating companies, or winding them up, taking 
shares or selling them, promoting financial undertakings to benefit his fellow-creatures, 
or picking the bones of such enterprises when they had proved to be founded on 
sandy foundations, — as in good truth many of the schemes offered by Roxby and his 
friends to the credulous public turned out to be. Still Mr. Roxby was regarded on 
’change as a man who could take pretty fair care of himself; and if his Central 
African Railways or Nebraska Mining Company had proved rather disastrous invest- 
ments to shareholders, the city generally did not think Mr. Roxby personally had lost 
much money in those high-sounding speculations. 

But to see this active gentleman in his hive was not quite so easy as Detfield had 
anticipated. He was asked to sit down and wait, while a clerk having politely handed 
him a portion of the “ Times,” took his card in. The supplement of the “ Times ” did 
not amuse Detfield. It does not some people, though lam never clear that it is not the 
most entertaining part of that paper. But the other sheets were in the hands of two 
other gentlemen, who were fidgeting on their chairs, and literally snorting with 
impatience for an interview with the great financier. At first Charlie watched his 
companions lazily, and with some little amusemmeiit ; but gradually he arrived at that 
state of irritation which they had already attained. 

At the expiration of half an hour he sat down and wi-ote a note, requesting to see 
Mr; Roxby on business of the utmost importance. Mr. Roxby sent down a line in 
reply, to say that he was up to his eyes already in business of that nature, and likely 
to remain so ; would Captain Detfield give him the pleasure of his company at din- 
ner, seven sharp ? Having signified assent, Charlie departed ; but even this had a 
somewhat depressing effect upon him. He had promised to write that night to 
Bessie, and tell her what her guardian had said. This, now, was impossible. 

Punctual to time did Detfield drive up to Roxby’s house, in Gordon square, a quiet 
and well-appointed bachelor’s establishment. Here, at all events, he had not long to 
wait. He had been scarce five minutes in the drawing-room before his host appeared, 
and apologized laughingly for not seeing him in the city. 

“ But, my dear Detfield, there is business and business ; I always have my hands 
full, aud, unless I am much mistaken, yours can be discussed comfortably over our 


164 


Two Kisses. 


claret after dinner. East of Temple Bar, you see, time is money. Now when you 
have partaken of what my cook has been able to improvise for us at short notice, I 
shall be quite at your service, — ready to listen and discuss. Come along.” 

Very little need to apologize for that dinner. It was as good as two men could 
well sit down to, and Eoxby was much too experienced a tactician to dwell upon 
shortcomings which he knew did not exist. 

“ I pay my servants high,” he replied, in answer to a complimentary remark of his 
guest’s on the entertainment, as they sat over their wine, “ and let them cheat me 
pretty much as they will ; they know there’s only one thing I won’t submit to, — short- 
comings on any point. I take no excuse. If they are not equal to emergencies, 
they are not fit for my place. My cook was telegraphed to five minutes after you 
sent up your assent to dine here. I should have expected her to find a decent dinner 
for half a score at such notice. Of course she can do better with more time ; but in 
London, with carte 'blanche^ if a woman can’t improvise something decent in four 
hours she won’t do for me.” 

‘‘ Well, I should say you are pretty fairly suited.” 

Yes. All these things are a mere question of money. What you want is always 
in the market, if you can afford to pay for it. Pictures, china, moors in Scotland, 
country-house, anything you like. I’m a moderate man ; I go in for comfort. This 
is not a big house, — I don’t want one, — but it is furnished as luxuriously, to my tastes, 
as is possible. My one hobby is perfectly-trained servants. I don’t often keep them 
over three years; they begin to think then you can’t do without them, as if there 
■were not quite as good to be had as ever were parted with. No, don’t pass that 
claret; it’s forty-eight, and you won’t meet genuine forty-eight very often now- 
adays.” 

“But I have got something very important to discuss with you, Mr. Boxby,” 
replied Charlie, as he filled his glass. 

“ Of course you have, my dear fellow,” interposed his host; “ but we’ll have that 
presently over a cigar and our coffee. Haven’t you come down expressly to have a 
talk, the subject of which I can make a pretty good guess about ? But never mind 
that yet, finish off the decanter, and we’ll have another bottle. The wine’s good 
enough to go on with a little longer.” 

Detfield winced at the familiarity of his host. Boxby had never addressed him in 
this easy fashion before, and Charlie had an intuitive feeling that it boded him no 
good. Most men would have heralded it as a propitious omen ; but somehow he did 
not. The weather was rather too fine. Such very summery mornings often end in 
thunder-storms; and this was just Detfield’s sensation. 

It certainly did not occur to the guardsman that his host was pressing him to drink; 
but it was so. Mr. Boxby had a somewhat awkward proposition to make, and he, 
from the depths of his experience, considered that these things were mellowed by 
wine ; that they rather lost their grim deformity when viewed through a considerable 
amount of liquor. But Charlie was no neophyte, and it took a good deal of claret to 


Mr. Roxby as a Guardian. 


105 


alTect him. Still we do know that what appears so easy in the smoking-room over 
night often assumes a very difterent aspect the next morning; our difiiculties of 
nine A.M. shrink as the night wears away. The creditors that have appalled a man 
over his tea and toast are men of buckram after sapper. But cigars and coffee appear 
at last, and Charlie goes at once to the subject. 

“ Of course you have guessed, Mr. Boxby, what it is I have to say to you.” 

His host nodded. 

‘‘ I love your ward, and she has consented to be my wife ; subject, naturally, to 
your consent.” 

Diplomatic this, upon Charlie’s part. As arrangements stood between him and 
Bessie, it was to be with, if possible, — without, if not. 

“Exactly,” replied Boxby, slowly, and ejecting a cloud of smoke from his lips; 
“ but as her guardian, I must put a question or two to you before I give my consent. 
Of course, as far as position goes, etc., you’re most eligible; but then, my dear 
Detfield, you see you’re ruined.” 

“Well, I don’t know how you know it, but I don’t want to blink the fact,” returned 
Charlie, doggedly ; “ I am.” 

“ My dear sir,” replied Boxby, as he flipped the ashes from his cigar, “ we know 
all this kind of thing in the city.” 

“I told her so,” continued the guardsman, not heeding the interruption; “and it’s 
God’s truth, when I asked her to be my wife, I had no idea she .was an heiress.” 

Mr. Boxby smiled ; it was a smile of much incredulity. He did not believe this 
statement in the least. Had not his tool, Jenkens, sought out this ingenuous young 
man, and introduced him to Bessie for the exjwess purpose of repairing his shattered 
fortunes ? “ Well, if Captain Detfield wished to play the hypocrite to himself, all the 
better,” thought Mr. Boxby. “ When a man is a hypocrite, he is never shocked at a 
little piece of roguery. Clever fellow, Jenkens, — cleverer than I have thought him 
lately. I was half afraid he had made a mistake in his man.” 

So musing, Boxby rubbed his hands softly, and then replied : — 

“ Well, now, my dear Detfield, you have found out your mistake, I presume you are 
fairly satisfied with the discovery.” 

“lam, for her sake,” rejoined Charlie, earnestly, “ though not for my own. It makes 
what I have to ask of you considerably more difllcult. You’ve a right to object to a 
ruined man being engaged to your ward, who is rich ; if she had been poor, it would 
have been dilferent.” 

, , “ Quite so,” replied Boxby. He had no intention of making Detfield’s explanation 
easy for him. It would hardly suit the terms he intended to propose, — the bargain he 
meant to make. He was one of those unscrupulous men who make capital out of 
everything they do. He had become, by accident, guardian to a wealthy ward ; she 
had arrived at a marriageable age. Mr. Boxby’s iutention was to sell her. If Detfield 
would not pay his price, somebody less nice on such points w'ould. At present, he 
thought he should have little difficulty in driving his bargain. A ruined man, who 


IGG 


Two Kisses. 


opened his case by pretending that he had wooed Bessie in ignorance of her riches ; 
“ No need to be very scrupulous with him,” thought Roxby. Of the real state of the 
affair it was of course impossible he could have a suspicion. Of the mistake Detfield 
had been led into regarding Miss Clementina, he had no conception. All he knew 
was that his agent, Jenkens, had introduced this man to his ward with a view to 
“ marrying money.” Detfield had wooed Bessie Avith his eyes open. What he might 
choose to say now Avas only the specious gloss men throAV over a transaction of Avhich 
they are a little ashamed. 

Boxby had considerable contempt for such Aveakness, and judged men’s flaccidity 
of character rightly a good deal by such small traits. lie had reason. If you intend 
to be a scoundrel, do not be that meanest of beings, a coAvardly one. Though Ave 
detest, Ave respect, lago ; aa'c despise Macbeth. 

Charlie had expected some assistance from his host, some sign of encouragement to 
proceed, at all events ; but Mr. Boxby continued to smoke placidly, as if they AA^cre 
conversing upon the mere topics of the day. After a silence of some minutes, 
Detfield once more took up his speech. 

“ I suppose,” he said, “ you are thinking all this over. AnsAver me one thing. 
Will you give me Bessie ? ” 

“ That depends on the result of this conversation. A man Avho has succeeded in 
ruinieg himself in London life, and has got to your years, — though they are not very 
many, still you’ve passed the age of puppydom a good bit, — should be a man of the 
world.” 

He paused here, but Charlie only nodded. 

“ Well,” resumed Boxby, “ you, a broken man, marry my ward Avith her thirty 
thousand pounds, — she has that, — payoff your debts, and settle doAvn as a \drtu- 
ous and sober member of the community. Not very bad business on your part, 
is it ? ” 

I Avooed her for herself. I had no idea she had money. I thought Miss Clemen- 
tina Avas the heiress,” interposed Charlie, Avarmly. 

Devilish cleA^er, by Jove ! ” thought Mr. Boxby. I have seen a good many of 
’em declare they had no idea the lady had a fortune ; but this is a master-stroke. 
This young man is really brilliant.” 

“ Well,” he continued, laughi)ig, “ you’ve, at all events, made a very comfortable 
mistake, Detfield, on your side of the ledger. Noav, I am going to talk to you as a 
man of the Avorld. You’ll make a good thing of this marriage. My consent is of 
consequence to you. SIioav me fair reasons for giving it.” 

“ I don’t understand you,” replied Charlie, opening his eyes. 

“ Booh ! pooh ! my dear felloAv ; yes, you do. I hate fencing. Let’s come to the 
point. Five minutes Avill settle it, if you Avill speak plain.” 

“ I shall have to understand you before I can,” replied Charlie, gravely, now most 
completely puzzled. 


Mr. Roxby as a Guardian. 


167 


‘‘Psha! ” returned the other, impatiently, *‘what is the use of beating about the 
bush in this fashion ? Give me good reasons for assenting to this marriage.” 

Still Charlie stared blankly at his interlocutor. 

“ What, you want it put still plainer ? ” continued Eoxby, vehemently. “ This 
match will be a good thing for you. What is it going to be worth to me ? ” 

“ I see,” replied Detfield, after a short pause. “ You mean your consent must be 
purchased.” 

“ Of course I do. Why couldn’t you speak out at once ? It isn’t likely that I am 
going to resign the good-will of a valuable property for nothing. You’re a cool 
hand, to da you justice. I suppose you wanted to draw me .about the price.” 

“ Perhaps so,” replied the guardsman, dryly. 

‘‘Well, I never hem and haw,” resumed Eoxby, in jubilant tones. “It’s not my 
way of doing business. I buy or I sell at a jump. I never haggle about the price 
when I want a thing, and I don’t stand beating down when I sell. Five thousand is 
my figure. It’s not much more than fifteen per cent, on what will fall to you.” 

“ But I haven’t got it,” responded Charlie, with the greatest composure. 

“ Of course you haven’t; but you will have as soon as you are married to Bessie. 
I’ll have a deed drawn up that will make that all right.” 

“ Still, you see, this is her money, not mine,” interposed Detfield, with a peculiar 
blandness that might have warned a less excited man than his host that he was tread- 
ing on dangerous ground. 

But Roxby, ever of a sanguine disposition, warmed with the wine he had drank, 
and quite convinced in his own mind that Charlie was as unprincipled as himself, 
— that he had sought Bessie’s love only for her money, and that all this affected igno- 
rance was but mere clever fencing on his part, — saw. it not one whit. 

“ Bah ! ” he rejoined, laughing. “ Leave that to me. I will stand your friend 
when the settlements are made out. You shall have no cause to complain that they 
are drawn too tightly. Now, what do you say ? ” 

“ Say ? ” replied Charlie, slowly, as he threw his cigar into the grate. “ I say that 
you are, in fact, the greatest blackguard it was ever my misfortune to dine with.” 

“ Sir, do you mean to insult me ? ” cried Eoxby, springing to his feet. 

“ I should fancy that next to impossible,” returned Detfield, rising leisurely from 
his chair. “ Don’t bluster ; it’s only gratuitous noise, you know. Out-and-out 
scoundrels of your sort are never physically dangerous, and any attempt at personal 
violence will only recoil on your own head. Good-night.” 

You shall never marry Bessie Stanbury,” cried Eoxby, in a voice hoai’se with 
passion. 

“ I think I shall. "VVe shall see.” 

“You shall be rotting in a sponging-house before the week is over,” screamed 
Eoxby. “ You, at all events, cannot afford to wait.” 

But Charlie vouchsafed no reply, and took his departure. 


168 


Two Kisses. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

A KISS WITH A STING IN IT. 

^lONTAGUE Gore and his wife have drifted slowly apart since the conversation of a 
few evenings back. Cissy, conscious of her innocence, and in no wise comprehend- 
ing how much jealous}" has to do with her husband’s remonstrance, feels indignant at 
the distrust of herself conveyed thereby. She knows there is nothing to find fault 
with much in these mysterious meetings. She cannot see from any point of view but 
her own. She simply deems Montague suspicious, — wanting in belief of the recti- 
tude of the woman he has made his wife. 

As for Gore, with him suspicion and jealousy have grown apace. He scorns to 
take any note of his wife’s actions. Even when the post comes in, he glances no 
more at the letters than to see what may be for himself. “ JSlrs. Gore ” is quite 
sufiicient to prevent his looking further. He asks no questions now. He never 
demands, as he did in their early days, “ Who’s your correspondent. Cissy ? Has he 
or she anything amusing to say ? ” Even when his eye catches Mrs. Paynter’s well- 
known calligraphy his tongue is silent. 

Cissy is beginning to interpret this in a fashion all her own. She cannot believe 
that all this cold indifference is due entirely to their disagreement (so she terms it 
to herself) of the other night. She also is gradually, though, as yet, somewhat 
mistily, weaving for herself a chemise of Xessus. She would have laughed had you 
told her so ; but the thread of jealousy is incorporated with this fanciful woof that 
she is spinning. She muses on their gradual estrangement. “ Surely he did love me 
dearly once. How devoted he was during our Continental trip ! How keen always to 
hear what Lizzie had to say ! IIow he enjoyed her fun and gossip ! Now he never asks 
what may be in her letters. Is it this, that she was an old llame ? She speaks of him 
as a very old friend ; we do call our former loves by that name sometimes, lias the 
old passion once more reasserted itself and extinguished the new ; has love for Lizzie 
killed his fancy for me ? It must have been but a fancy that he had for me ; yet, if it 
■was so, how do men speak and look when they love ? How should 1 know, — 1 who 
never have had love to give to man ? Why does he no longer care to see her letters ? 
Can it be that he has letters of hers to read that 1 know nothing of ? It may be. It 
is impossible to believe that because I decline to give up occasionally seeing an old 
friend, who, for reasons known to himself, docs not wish to fiice society, Montague 
should treat me so coldly. There must be something more than that.” Thus argued 
Cissy, turning the whole thing over in her mind pretty constantly. 

As may be easily conceived, under such circumstances, the estrangement between 
them widened day by day. Confidences were a thing of the past. Gore sought his 
house only just in time to dress for dinner. Such evenings as they passed at home. 


A Kiss with a Sting in it. 


169 


he betook himself to his work, and left Cissy to her book, — jealousy and distrust 
gathering on both sides; the husband suffering torture that he strove to lull to 
sleep, as in the old sorrow of many years back, by dint of hard work; the wife 
slowly awaking to a dull feeling of pain, that she felt unable to comprehend, but 
with a proud consciousness of unjust treatment. 

It was not to be supposed that the diseord in the house could escape the sharp eyes 
of one so intimate with the Gore menage as Mrs. Paynter. That lady speedily dis- 
covered that there was something wrong, and quickly did she resolve that she would 
know the rights of it. Flighty, volatile, she might be, but Lizzie Paynter was a very 
staneh friend to those she loved, and these were two people she had a great regard 
for. She did think, in her sanguine way, that if she could but get to the bottom of 
this misunderstanding, which, it was clear, existed between Cissy and her husband, 
it was possible she might bring them together again. 

“ It will be difficult,” mused Mrs. Paynter, shaking her pretty head sagaciously. 

Interfering between husband and wife is a delicate operation, very. Cissy, too, is 
getting decidedly repellant in her manner towards me. But, my dear Cissy, I like 
you rather too "well to stand that. I shall have it out some time when you don’t 
expect it. Montague, too, goes about moped and indifferent ; says he’s overworked. 
No, Montie, that won’t do for me. It’s something a good deal more than overwork 
is the matter with you.” 

When Mrs. Paynter talked the subject over with her husband, she was rather 
astonished at the way he spoke concerning her seheme. 

“ Better not, Lizzie,” he said. I see as well as you do that things are working 
awry between Montie Gore and his wife. I’ve a wee suspieion about the cause. No, 
I’m not going to tcllyou what I fancy, child. I don’t think I ever forbade you to do 
anything in my life.” 

“ But you are going to now, John,” interposed Mrs. Paynter, softly. 

“No, I’m not. I’ve belief in your sharp little noddle, and wouldn’t go that far; 
but I think, Lizzie, you will interfere to no good now, and might step in to good pur- 
pose later.” 

“ I disagree with you, John. I must try to clear up this difference between them, 
providing, after a little, I find I’m right in my suspicions.” 

“ What are they ? ” 

“ Ah ! you would like to know, would you ? Confidence for confidence, my hus- 
band.” 

, ,John Paynter shook his head. 

“What, you won’t? Well, John, I think Montie is suffering from an attack of 
jealousy. Cissy, I can’t make out, — unless it is she is indignant at being unjustly 
suspected.” 

“ Look here, Lizzie ; I believe in your friend, but I fancy Montague Gore has some 
reason in his wrath. If, as 1 tell you. Cissy is what I think her, it will come right 
without your putting your^ittle nose into the business.” 


170 


Two Kisses. 


“It isn’t so very small,” exclaimed Mrs. Paynter, passing her delicate fingers 
reflectively over the organ in question. 

“ It’s just the right size, and very pretty to boot, you vain woman,” retorted her 
husband, laughing. 

“ You dear old John ! that’s a very sweet speech for you ; but I’ve made up my 
mind.” 

“ To interfere ? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“ Well, Lizzie, I hope you will be successful ; but I own I doubt it.” 

“ Your wife, sir,” she rejoined, laughing, and sweeping him a mock courtesy, “ is a 
very clever woman, although you have never quite recognized the fact.” 

“ I only know,” said her husband, smiling, “ that she always takes her own way, 
and usually says it is my fault when it proves a failure. I’m off to smoke,” he con- 
tinued, rising. 

“ No ; smoke here,” returned Lizzie. 

“ Not a bit of it, my dear. You want to discuss the Gores’ case all night, and I’ve 
said my say.” 

“ You ungracious old monster ! Go and commit tobacco in jmur own den, then ; ” 
but the riant look that accompanied the speech showed that Lizzie and her husband 
understood each other much better than a short-sighted world usually gave them 
credit for. 

Having made up her mind to interfere, the next question that presented itself to 
Mrs. Paynter Avas, on Avhich side it Avould be most judicious to commence her attack. 
Womanlike, she thought she could do more with a man than with one of her own 
sex. Besides, Mrs. Gore had been somewhat cold towards her of late, and Lizzie 
wondered at times Avhat Avas the meaning of that. 

“ She’s piqued about something,” argued that lady, “ though Avhat it is, I confess I 
don’t understand. To see Montague alone in Park Crescent Avill be difficult, — Avhat 
if I invade him in his chambers ? A bold measure, certainly ; but then, I rather like 
bold measures. It’s my one chance, pretty avcII, of seeing him alone. I might ask 
him to come here and sec me, it’s true ; but no, I like the other best ; there’s more 
fun in it. IIoav it will shock one or tA\^o dear friends of mine if they should happen 
to hear of it ! ” and Lizzie gave Avay to a little laugh at the idea. 

Montague Gore, as Ave knoAV, had chambers in the Temple; they consisted of 
three rooms opening into one another. In the days they had been residential the 
outer of these had been his business-room, the next his sitting-room, the inner his 
bedroom. Since his marriage the outer room had been given up to his clerk, Avhile 
the sitting-room had been turned into a Avaiting-room for clients, communicating Avith 
the inner room of all by a door, the upper half of which Av^as of glazed glass, — glaze 
in some fcAV places Avorn away so that it Avas possible to look into the inner room if a 
pei'son Averc so minded. Gore had given orders once or tAvice that this glass should 
be freshly glazed, but so far it had not been attended to/ A sultry afternoon, Mr. 


171 


. A Kiss with a Sting in It. 

Kinglake tells us, occasioned in some measure the invasion of the Crimea ; it had 
been better for Montague Gore if he had never exchanged the old door for the glass 
aiTangement. 

Great was his astonishment when one afternoon his clerk brought in Mrs. Payn- 
ter’s card, and intimated that the lady wished to see him. 

Of course he welcomed her cordially, at the same time expressing a hope that 
nothing unpleasant had procured him the honor of this visit. 

“Well, I don’t know,” replied Lizzie; “we shall see when we look into things. 
So this is the hole in which you make all your money ; like John’s, it would be con- 
siderably improved by the inroad of a housemaid with a lot of soap and water.” 

“ Heaven forefend ! we should never be able to find anything.” 

Mrs. Paynter, meanwhile, was quietly noting the aspect of the place. Owing to 
Gore having lived there previous to his marriage, it contained more furniture than is 
usual in chambers not residential. Especially did Mrs. Paynter’s eye linger on the 
picture over the writing-table, of which we have before heard. She wondered who it 
might be, but she remembered, though rather indistinctly, that there was a tragedy 
connected with' Gore’s life, and forbore to inquire. 

“ I don’t think much of your den, Mr. Gore, and that’s the truth ! ” she exclaimed, 
after a little ; “ but I suppose you smarten it up a bit when Cissy comes to lunch with 
you.” 

“ She never does,” replied Gore, curtly. “ Wives seldom invade their husband’s 
place of business, I should think.” 

“ Oh, yes ! I do now and then, for one. But I wanted to see you upon something 
of importance, — important to me as to all your friends; still more important to you. 
Can you guess what it is ? ” 

^e shook his head, and looked blankly into her face. She eyed him keenly for % 

anent, then exclaimed, abruptly : — 

“ What is wrong between Cissy and you ? ” 

He started. What ! it was common talk, then, among their friends that he and his 
wife did not get on together ? lie paused a few seconds, and then replied : — 

“ Nothing. What can you mean ? ” 

“ That’s not the truth, Montague, — there is,” replied Mrs. Paynter, quietly. 

“ If Cissy has made you the confidante of her grievances,” Jie rejoined, sharply, 
“ you know more than I do.” 

It stirred him to anger to think that his wife should confide in this woman, — she 
who would not confide in him. To his jealous temper this was intolerable. Mrs. 
Paynter was evidently here as his wife’s ambassadress. 

“ Montague, don’t mistake me so cruelly. Cissy never opened her lips to me on 
the subject; but to one who knows you both so well as I do, it requires little sharp- 
sightedness to see there is something amiss.” 

“ I suppose,” he returned, roughly, “ there’s a seamy side to most married life. 
It was not likely I should be moi’e fortunate than my neighbors. I dare say you and 


172 


Two Kisses. 


John Paynter have found the springs of the domestic chariot get a little out of order 
upon occasion.” 

“ John and I understand one another,” replied Lizzie. 

“ I should like to hear what he says about it! ” exclaimed Gore, rudely. 

“ lie’s more courteous to a lady than you, at all events I ” cried INIrs. Paynter, 
springing to her feet. “ I came to help you if I could. You meet me with distrust, 
and are downright bearish besides. I will go.” 

She looked very handsome in her wrath, as she stood there, her head thrown 
slightly back, and her blue eyes sparkling with indignation. She was very angry 
with this man. lie had refused to flirt with her in days gone by, and a woman never 
forgets that ; now he was refusing the loyal friendship and help that she proffered. 
She turned, and walked swiftly to the door ; but ere she reached it he overtook her, 
caught her hand, and exclaimed : — 

“ Forgive me, Lizzie 1 AVe cannot part like this. Pardon a man who has good 
reason to feel somewhat embittered. Come back and sit down.” 

lie had never called her by her Christian name before. In his excitement he was 
scarce conscious that he had done so now. It was odd, but that slight incident roused 
the ever-ready spirit of coquetry within Lizzie’s breast. She turned round upon him, 
and, as the anger died out of her face, said, softly : — 

“ I thought. Montie, you could never really mean to treat an old ally like that.” 

lie was somewhat taken aback by this abrupt transition from indignation to tender- 
ness. Still he was as yet too much intent upon learning what she might have to say 
to pay ranch attention to it. 

If Montague Gore was anxious to hear Mrs. Paynter’s revelation, there was one 
just arrived at the other side of that glazed door who stood petrified at the sound of 
her voice. 

Cissy had been about to knock at it when Mrs. Paynter’s angry tones fell upon her 
ears. She could not catch the words in the least ; but she felt sure it was a woman’s 
voice. She thought she recognized it. Cissy paused. 

By one of those caprices which we of the AVest call chance, and the Easterns fate, 
a business telegram had arrived for Montague Gore just as Cissy was stepping into her 
brougham. She determined to take it to him herself. On arriving at the outer door 
of her husband’s chambers she found it ajar. No response being made to her knock 
she pushed it gently open. The room was empty, the clerk having slipped out on 
some temporary business of his own or his master’s. Similarly she made her way 
into the next room, and was about to tap at the glass door when her hand was 
arrested, as above-described. 

“You are making three great mistakes. Montie,” said Airs. Paynter, smiling, as she 
resumed her scat. “First, you won’t believe in my friendship, and you ought, you 
know. Secondly, you should always believe in a woman’s help, if ever you get into 
a scrape with another woman. Alen don’t, I know; they always will consult one 


A Kiss with a Sting in It. 


173 


another ; and what a mess they do make of it, as a rule ! ’’ and here Mrs. Paynter gave 
a most expressive shrug of her pretty shoulders. 

But I have repented of those two heresies,” said Gore, earnestly ; “ I accept your 
friendship, and will' listen to your advice. Still, I am utterly ignorant of what it is 
3’ou would talk to me about.” 

“And they call us hypocrites,” observed Mrs. Paynter, parenthetical^. “You 
know very well. Will 3"ou answer my question ? What is wrong between you and 
Cissy ? ” ' 

“I don’t know — nothing — something — everything. God help me! I cannot 
understand her.” 

“You should have let some of us teach you the windings of a woman’s mind 
earlier,” replied Mrs. Paynter, archly, and favoring her companion with a most 
coquettish flash of her blue eyes. Though honestly working in Cissy’s behalf, she 
could not resist the temptation of flirting a little bit on her own. “And now I am 
going to tell you 3’-our third mistake, — you don’t believe in your wife.” 

“ I do I ” cried Gore, vehemently. 

“No, 3"ou don’t. You’re jealous of her,” replied Lizzie, demurely. 

“ Jealous of whom, pray ? ” 

“ How should I know ? Jealous without cause, I can swear. Yoiir wife loves you 
very dearly.” 

“ You think so ? ” inquired Gore, looking straight into his companion’s eyes. 

“ I’m sure of it ; better than she loves any one in the world.” 

Montague Gore paused, and remained for some few seconds lost in thought. 

AYhatwas Cissy doing all this time on the other side of that glazed door ? Her con- 
duct, perhaps, is hardly to be defended ; but bear in mind her husband’s change of 
manner had troubled her much of late. Who was this lad3^, she wondered, with whom 
he was closeted, the faint tones of whose voice, when raised, had seemed familiar to 
her ear ? Suddenl}^ she espied a place a little above her head from which the glaze 
had been a little worn off. She seized a chair, and in another second she was looking 
into the room, and had recognized Lizzie Pa3mtcr. 

“ You honestly believe this ? ” said Gore, rising, at length. “ I doubt it.” 

“You’re mad, Montague ; I swear it. Women don’t often make a mistake about 
such things ; ” and as she spoke she rose and laid her hand upon his arm. 

“ Bless 3"ou for the assurance, anyway, even if it should turn out 3'ou arc mistaken. 
IIow can I ever repay 3^our kindness ? ” he continued, taking her hands in his. 

Not a gesture of all this was lost upon Cissy. She could not hear what they said, 
but she had an excellent view of the speakers. 

The vciy devilry of coquetiy possessed Lizzie at that instant. 

“ Pa3" me,” she cried, laughing. “ Yes, that is new. You law3"ers always exact a 
fee ; I shall take one,” and as she spoke she leant forward towards him, and her e3^e3 
looking up into his said plainly what that fee should be. 

IMontaguc Gore bent his head and laid his lips lightly on her cheek, and a thilU of 


174 


Two Kisses. 


gratified vanity ran through Lizzie’s veins. It was a poor and unfairly won triumph, 
but she had made this man succumb to her at last in some sort. 

Cissy saw it all. She sprang from her chair, and sped with light foot and aching 
heart to her carriage. She knew now what it was to love. She knew at last that she 
loved her husband. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

CISSY LEAVES HEK HUSBAND. 

Mr. Fox Brine has returned from Xottingham, somewhat discomforted. He has 
vindicated his bold assertion that he would find Ilemsworths. He has — more than a 
dozen of them ; but he is quite aware that he has not found the llcmsworth that is 
wanted. Also docs Mr. Brine labor under the unpleasant consciousness of having 
been, in some measure, outwitted. He reflects, ruefully, that those hard-headed 
denizens of the Midlands are endowed with vast capacity as regards liquor-drinking 
generally, and gin-punch in particular. He resolves mentally not ti measure himself 
again on that point, with Mr. Turbottle, at all events. That the peripatetic merchant 
could have afforded him all the information he sought, he entertains no doubt. In 
his exceeding acuteness he thought to take Mr. Turbottle at disadvantage, and we 
have seen what has come of it. Now he has, for the present, lost all clue to that 
Avorthy. lie has vanished after his wont, leaving an address behind him, not being 
at all a habit of Mr. Turbottle’s. 

“ A^ou sec it all depends upon your circumstances,” that gentleman was wont to 
remark, with a grin, whenever this little peculiarity was alluded to. “ When you’re 
expectin’ haunches of wenison, tickets for the court balls, and no end of legacies, you 
can’t be too particklar about letting ’em know where you arc. But when it’s likely 
folks only want to point out half-crown brooches aint the standard gold they sup- 
posed ’em to be, and that genuine mother-of-pearl trifles have a good deal more 
mother than pearl in ’em, why, you see, it’s as well parties shouldn’t communicate. 
It leads to unpleasantness, which is what I never could a-bcar.” 

When Mr. Brine goes down to Gore’s chamber to give an account of his steward- 
ship, he is afflicted with considerable misgivings concerning his reception. He is not 
the least afraid of bitter commentary on his proceedings; but he docs think that he 
has laid himself open to a good deal of badinage. He reflects that he did crow rather 
loud that evening in York Terrace, and he has not much to show in confirmation of 
sucli bragging. But he need fear little raillery from IMontague (iore at present. 

Gore can discover no sign of Mrs. Paynter being justified in her assertion. On the 
contrary. Cissy behaves towards him with a measured coldness, little calculated to 
convey the idea of deep affection. Believing in the first instance that Lizzie might 
be right, he had made one determined effort to break down the barrier that had 
grown up between them ; but Cissy became more freezing in her manner than ever. 


Cissy Leaves Her Husband. 


175 


He was dealing with a proud woman, fiercely jealous, — a woman who had suddenly 
awoke to the fact that she loved for the first time ; while, simultaneously, she was 
given proof that the man she loved was carrying on an intrigue with her most inti- 
mate friend. That he was her husband, and that as such she had a claim on his 
aftections, operated but slightly on Cissy’s mind. 

Her first marriage had not taught her to put much faith in that obligation. But she 
had learned to hold Montague in high estimation ; and now it seemed that she had 
been his dupe from the commencement ; that his protestations of love were all fiilse ; 
that his heart, all the while, had been given to another. It seemed to Cissy that she 
had been the victim of an abominable plot. 

Blinded by her jealousy she conceived the hideous idea that her mari’iage with 
Gore had been a concerted affair between him and Mrs. Paynter, for the better con- 
cealment of the intrigue he was carrying on with that lady. It is true that this was 
jumping at a conclusion upon rather insufficient grounds, but women seldom form 
their opinions logically. Indeed, when jealousy begins to reason, self does not make 
much dilference ; we always hold a brief for the prosecution in such cases, and admit 
no evidence save that which tends to a conviction. 

It was little likely Cissy would soften towards her husband in her present frame of 
mind. She was torn by conflicting emotions. If she was to be a mere nonenity, a 
simple cloak to his illicit love for another, why had he so strenuously sought her love 
since she had become his wife ? Cissy had not deceived herself upon this point ; her 
husband had been her lover up to this time. If he had married her as a mere mask to 
his intrigue with Lizzie Paynter, then their wedding-day saw that end aecomplished, 
and further wooing was only likely to embroil him with his mistress. 

She herself, too, in admitting her want of love for him, gave him fair grounds for 
omitting the attentions of a lover ; and yet Cissy knew well she had no ground for 
complaint on that score. Could it be that this intimacy with Mrs. Paynter w^as but an 
old liaison^ which he wanted courage to break up ? No, that was not the case, else 
Mrs. Paynter had probably interfered to prevent her marriage ; and she -well knew 
that Lizzie had done her best to promote that. No, her first conjecture was the true 
solution. This man whom she had so looked to and esteemed w'as falser, meaner, 
baser, than those "with whom her early life had been spent. 

And yet she loved him. She could not disguise that from herself. Though she 
inwardly raged, though she despised herself for the miserable weakness, though she 
believed that he had deceived her, that he had whispered love words into her ear false 
as dicers’ oaths, that he and his paramour perhaps even laughed at her miserable 
'infatuation, still she could not tear him from her heart. Can a proud W'oman suffer 
greater torture than to feel that she has poured out the precious spikenard of her love 
on one who but moeks at the gift ? Cissy is beginning to think she can live no longer 
beneath this man’s roof. 

Montague Gore, meanwhile, is slowly resigning himself to the inevitable. His 


176 


Two Kisses. 


dream of happiness is over. To the first bitter regret of conceiving this woman’s 
love can never be his is now added a fierce feeling of resentment at her injustice. 

She has, he tells himself, thought proper to quarrel with him for expressing disap- 
proval of her conduct, on a point in which he would have been borne out by most 
men. Xo husband would acquiesce in his wife holding clandestine meetings with a 
man of whom he knew nothing, lie attributes Cissy’s behavior entirely to their 
conversation of a few weeks back. 

lie has, of course, no idea that she witnessed the conclusion of that interview with 
Mrs. Payntcr, or even he must have admitted that she had some reasons for her 
jealousy. But he is in ignorance of all this. Ilis wife’s feelings are a scaled liook to 
him. He has no suspicion of the counts upon which Cissy mentall}" arraigns liim. 
He would be thunderstruck at hearing all she has to allege against him. So the 
breach between them widens rapidly, and has by this attained such dimensions that it 
may well be doubted whether it will ever be bridged again. 

Fox Brine, on repairing to his friend’s chambers to render an account of his mission, 
is struck with the change in Montague’s appearance. He may well look ill. To stiile 
the thoughts that rage within him he has had recourse to his old panacea, — hard work ; 
and he has carried it to that point where Nature begins to resent the unfair strain 
placed upon her. He is conscious himself that he is rather overdoing it. That 
extreme lassitude, those constant headaches, — he has experienced them before, and he 
knows what his doctor said then ; “ Off with you to the seaside at once ; don’t touch 
a pen, nor do more than glance at a newspaper. Do nothing for two months ; the 
brain wants to lie fallow a while.” 

He listens attentively, though, to Brine’s account of his proceedings, but by no 
means thinks it conclusive that Mr. Turbottle is in a position to give them the 
information they require. 

“ The man, you see. Fox, is such a charlatan by profession that ho was quite likely 
to affect knowledge he did not possess, when he saw you anxious for information on 
the point.” 

“ He knows all about it,” returned Brine, doggedly. 

“Well, he apparently won’t tell it drunk, whatever he may do sober.” 

“ None of your chaff, Montic. It is not given to mankind, general!}', to put away 
punch after the fashion of Mr. Turbottle. Confound him ! he seemed only to get 
more sober with every glass he took.” 

“ And you didn’t, eh ? ” 

“No, you’re quite right, I did not. But I tell you what, old fellow, you’re not 
looking yourself ; overdoing it again with respect to work. Why don’t you knock off 
and go away somewhere for a little ? Doesn’t Mrs. Gore think you want change of 
some sort ? ” 

“ Oh, I’m all right; a little fagged, that’s all. I’ve had a great deal to do lately,” 
replied Montague, wearily. “ I want more money, too, now I’m married.” 

“ Well, you know your own business best ; but remember what the doctors told you 


Cissy Leaves Her Hicsbaiid. 


177 


before. It’s false economy, besides. Driving the engine too hard always involves 
damage to the machinery ; and then you have to lie by for repairs. In the mean 
time I intend to devote all my energies to the recovery of the lost Turbottle. When 
I find him I shall be able to clear up that settlement question for you,” observed 
Brine, rising. 

“I doubt it; but still Ave arc dead-beat about the Ilemsworths, and I can’t, just at 
present, think of anything else. Good-by.” 

Mr. Brine pondered a good deal over his friend’s looks as he walked homew^ards. 

That wife of his is answ^erable for them in some measure. I’ll be bound,” he mut- 
tered. “I fathomed that wmman the first time^ I saw her. Very handsome, very 
false, was my verdict, and she is — I wonder what I ought to do, knowing what I 
know. ‘ When in doubt about speaking, hold your tongue,’ is a good, safe maxim, 
and I’ll stick to it for the present ; and yet it seems like disloyalty to my oldest friend, 
for the sake of shielding a worthless woman. Ptdi ! how could she let that scoundrel’s 
lips soil her cheek, if she had a shred of respect for herself left ? It’s a bad business, 
very ; and I devoutly wish I was in happy ignorance of the whole affair. What a fool 
I was to miss that train ! ” 

Little did Cissy, brooding over her own imagined wrongs, think what judgment 
was being passed upon' her. Little did she dream that she w^as pronounced as false to 
her husband as she conceived him to be to her, and upon almost identical evidence. 
She would have been perfectly aghast if she had known that Fox Brine had witnessed 
her parting with her father, and drawn deductions of her conduct similar to those she 
herself had come to concerning her husband, from witnessing the conclusion of his 
interview with Mrs. Paynter. As before said, it never occurred to her that the major 
might be deemed her lover to those having no knowledge of their relationship. The 
idea was so preposterous that she might well be excused for never thinking of it ; and 
yet it was no liiiwarrantable conclusion for Brine to arrive at, or for her husband to 
have grave suspicion about. 

During the next few days Cissy sutfered severely. She raged inwardly. It seemed 
to her that all w'as false ; that all around her w^ere in league to deceive ; that she w^as 
the mere puppet of a designing intriguante, the dupe of a heartless man. And yet 
how she did love this man ! She had aw^akened to this knowledge too late ; no, too 
soon, — she ought never to have done so. Had she not loved him it had been easier to 
bear. Lies, lies, lies, she was surrounded by lies. 

In vain did Mrs. Paynter call ; Cissy obstinately refused to see her. That lady was 
mystified past conception. If she had indulged in her habitual coquetry for a moment, 
of a surety she did not flatter herself that she had made any impression upon Mon- 
tague Gore’s heart, nor did she desire to do so. She honestly wanted to set things 
straight between husband and wife; and the incorrigible flirt little knew what had 
come of her endeavors. She wrote to Cissy ; her letters remained unanswered. 

It whs true Cissy’s first impulse had been to reply in exceeding bitter terms, and 
let her see that she knew all. Then she thought of an interview, in which she might 


178 


Two Kisses. 


pour forth all her scorn and indignation on her rival’s head. But ever came back the 
dread reflection, she can laugh in my face, she is a successful rival. Then rose the 
fiereo thought of revenge ; of telling John Paynter all she knew, or, to speak more 
correctly, imagined she knew. But Cissy refleeted that would probably only result 
in throwing her rival into her husband’s arms. An elopement, she conceived, the 
probable result of such exposure. 

What was she to do ? To live in the midst of all this deception was intolerable 
She could never bear again to see her husband even talking with Mrs. Paynter; and, 
intimate as they were, it would be impossible, she thought, to postpone that for long. 
How idiotically blind John Payntei’ must be not to see all this ! And yet he could 
come out with his blundering remarks about her proceedings. Great Heaven ! why 
did he not pay some slight attention to his wife’s ? 

Should she consult her father ? No, this was a thing she must think out for herself. 
He had told her she was independent; that she had money of her own. Thank God ! 
she could go and owe nothing to her husband. “ Yes,” she thought, “ it must be so. I 
will leave him. I shall be better away; anything is better than to live such a life as 
we do now. I did it before ; but then I did not love. Now, alas ! I do ; ” and Cissy 
wound up with a passionate fit of tears. 

Once this idea has entered her head, and Cissy begins to turn it over pretty con- 
stantly, she becomes impatient for action. Yes, she will go, and she thinks without 
explanation. She is quite aware that her husband has the power to prevent her leav- 
ing, unless she could produce rather more evidence against him than she can lay her 
hands on at present. She has no doubt of his guilt, but still she feels that her story 
might not be so convincing to others as it is to herself. She can imagine specious 
explanations given by a couple so well versed in duplicity as those two. She has an 
impression, somewhat vague, it is true, but nevertheless rather strong, that her father, 
if slit consulted him, would counsel her to pause. That would be intolerable ; she feels 
that it would cover her with shame now to admit how passionately she loved her husband. 

No, she will go without saying a word to any one, and leave a letter behind her for 
Montague, stating her discovery of his perfidy, and her determination to live with 
him no longer. Where shall she go ? Brompton-super-Mare will do as well as any 
place. She will write to her father when she gets there. 

Montague Gore, returning home weary from his work a day or two later, is 
astounded, instead of finding his wife, to find this letter : — 

“ That I can no longer consent to live beneath your roof will surprise you little, 
when T tell you I know all ; that I know what a mockery your pretence of love has 
been from the very commencement; that I am aware now that our marriage was 
intended but to cloak your liaison with another. I would have been a true wife to 
you, Montague, if you would have trusted me. It seems that I have been your dupe 
all along. The love you professed for me you had not to give ; your heart was 


Cissj/ Leaves Her Husband. 


179 


already another’s. I deserved better at your hands than this. My secret was, at all 
events, an innocent one, and capable of explanation. 

“ For you ! I have witnessed your treason with my own eyes. To explain away 
wiiat I have seen is impossible. There remains for us only separation. A woman 
must be indeed lost to self-respect who would consent to play the rble you have 
marked out for me. You need fear no disclosures at my hands, unless you drive me 
to them. I ask but that we should part silently and forever. 

• ' “ Your wife that was, 

“Cissy Gore.” 

Montague Gore read this letter over some three times ; he was white even to his 
lips as he did so. At length he thrust the paper into his breast, and if there had 
been a physiognomist present his verdict would have been that this man was dan- 
gerous. When men turn white with passion, it is usually in consequence of the 
violent repression of emotion. The anger that can be pent up is of the kind that 
resembles the mountain torrent, in contradistinction to the brawling brook. When it 
bursts its banks, it is hard to face or to stem. 

“ I understand what you have written ? ” he muttered. “ Not in the least, save this : 
you have what you term an innocent secret capable of explanation ; and explain it you 
shall, by Heaven ! and so shall your co-partner also. If his story be what I suppose 
it, you will part silently and forever with one of us.” 

It was well Cissy could not see her husband’s face, as he read that letter of hers. 
Few who knew Montague Gore could have guessed what fierce passions ran beneath 
his habitual calm, self-contained manner. It was excessive love impelled Othello 
to slay Desdemona. Such paroxysm of jealousy is impossible save to those who 
greatly love. 

Gore at this moment -was in the state in which men are capable of great crimes, — 
when they deal out what they deem justice, and the world calls murder in somewhat 
reckless fashion. Quite possible, had he met Cissy and her father at this present, 
they had died before he thought of demanding that explanation he spoke of. Pro- 
fessional training stands in small stead when passion has mastered us, and we pass 
sentence on our own convictions without troubling ourselves concerning evidence or 
investigation. That his wife had eloped with the mysterious stranger Gore never 
doubted. The charge against himself he was so utterly at a loss to interpret that he 
put it down as one of those vague accusations we make at times to justify our own 
wrong-doing. 


180 


Two Kisses, 


CIIiVPTEE, XXXIII. 

THE major’s advice. 

Charlie Detfield is experiencing those pleasing sensations 'vvhicli probably 
accrue to a man who finds himself speeding down stream to Niagara Falls, — no 
possibility of reaching either bank, — nothing to do but sit still, watch his boat 
increasing its pace every hundred yards, and listen to the awful roar of the cataract 
destined to engulf him. The fate of those who go down to the sea in ships has its 
parallel in those who float down life’s river on “ bills.” There arc direful shipwrecks 
in both cases. Detfield’s bark is getting ominously nigh the breakers. He bids fair 
to shoot his Niagara before many days are gone by. " 

The somewhat impersonal 8immonds, controller of Charlie’s most serious liabilities, 
is beginning to wax vehement for a* settlement. To see that money-lending shade 
has apparently become an impossibility, but he is very active by post; threatening all 
kinds of proceedings unless his urgent thirst for ready-money is immediately 
assuaged. Again and again has Charlie sought the money-lender’s den, with a faint 
hope of inducing Shylock to grant a little respite. Shylock is always away in the 
city, say his clerks, striving to raise a little money on his own account, for such a 
dearth of the precious metal had not been experienced for many years. INIr. Sim- 
monds is terribly in want of funds, say his well-instructed subordinates ; engaged in 
one or two financial schemes that require pcrpetiuil feeding. 

Although Simmonds may be impalpable, his lawyers arc not, and it has become quite 
evident to Detfield that his liberty is of doubtful tenure. 'VVe all know that imprison- 
ment for debt is abolished ; but then you sec you can be ordered to pay, and com- 
mitted for contempt of court if you do not. As the probability, in such cases, is that 
a man does not pay because he has not the money to do so, he goes to prison for 
contempt of court instead of for debt; a distinction which one trusts is, in some 
shape, soothing to his feelings, although there seems a marvellous similarity between 
the new law and the old. 

It has never occurred to Detfield that his quarrel with lloxby can have had any- 
thing to do with the harshness of Mr. Simmonds’ proceedings. Although he had 
fairly wooed and won Dcssie for herself, without an idea of her being an heiress, yet, 
if he could have met the ruthless money-lender, he would probably have jilcadcd that, 
as some inducement for him to stay his hand. But ISIr. Simmonds hail his own game 
to play, and had no intention of having an interview with his debtor. Suddenly it 
struck Charlie that it would be a wise thing to go and have a talk with Claxby 
Jenkens. 

“ (’an’t possibly make things worse. I don’t see how I could do that if I tried. 
I’ve been a fool, and suppose I must pay for it; but it is a little rough on a fellow that 


The Major's Advice. 


181 


his smash should come just as he has persuaded the sweetest girl in England to be his 
wife ; and to think that she has money, after all. That old scoundrel Roxhy was right 
the other evening. I can’t afford to wait. If I could, I might marry Eessie; and 
stick to the old corps besides, perhaps ; but Simmonds means to have his own forth- 
with, as far as he can get it; that means selling out, as far as I am concerned.” ^ 
Detficld was not particularly sanguine that any good could come of this interview ; 
but we all know what preposterous chances we play for when the world is going 
against us. A chance this, quite of the Micawber type ; a trust that something might 
turn up. 

As he ascended the dingy stairs leading to the major’s office, in John street, 
Adclphi, Charlie reflected moodily that Claxby Jenkens had always disclaimed any 
intimate knowledge of the money-lending fraternity. That he usually prefaced his 
discourse with, “ Don’t borrow,” and concluded wnth, “ 'Well, if you will, or must, so 
and so (in his case, Simmonds) will let you off as cheap as any one ; but he’ll make 
you pay pretty high all the same.” To the latter part of his speech being strictly 
veracious, Charlie could bear testimony. 

The major received Detfield with his accustomed urbanity, and Avaited quietly till 
he should please to open the business upon which he came. To tell the truth, Claxby 
Jenkens Avas a good deal puzzled Avhat this visit might portend. 

“ lie can’t be such a fool as to suppose he can raise more money,” thought the 
major. “ If ho has been successful in his Avooing, Eoxby Avill, of course, pull him 
through. If he hasn’t, he must knoAv it’s all up.” 

The major, therefore, contemplated Charlie, through his spectacles, with no little 
curiosity. ' - 

“I Avant to have a talk Avith you, major,” said Charlie, endeavoring to settle him- 
self comfortably in the straight-backed office-chair. 

The major’s chairs Avere not designed Avith a vioAV to comfort. 

“ Comfort produces confidence,” quoth that astute practitioner. “ Confidence is 
rather inimical to the favorable transaction of such business as mine.” 

“ I am very much at your service for fifteen minutes,” replied Claxby Jenkens. 

After that, you’ll excuse me ; ” and he laid his Avatch upon his desk, as a significant 
hint to his visitor to say Avhat he had to say at once. “ What is it ? ” 

“ First, I Avant Simmonds, aaJio is now pressing me very hard, to give me a little 
more time.” 

My dear Detfield, I have told j^ou from the commencement I have no control, in 
^ any Avay, over Simmonds, in his business transactions. I can only say, from AA'hat I 
knoAv of him, if he Avants his money, you aauU have to furnish him Avith a A^ery good 
reason for consenting to Avait a little longer. He don’t, as a rule, Avithout seeing 
some benefit in prospective. You’ve had a chance. Why the deuce didn’t you take 
it ? ” . ; 

The chance meaning, I presume, that I should win the hand of Miss Bessie 
Stanbury ? ” 


182 


Two Kisses. 


“ Just SO,” replied the major, shortly, and gazing inquisitively at his companion 
from beneath his spectacles. 

“Well, I have. I am engaged to marry Bessie Stanbury.” 

“Then what on earth do you come to me for ? — I who can be of no use to you, 
when Itoxby, her guardian, can put things straight with Simmonds in ten minutes.” 

“ Boxby and I have quarrelled, lloxby is an unmitigated blackguard.” 

The major could not refrain from an ejaculation. This was so exactly what he 
thought might take place that he could not resist a triumphant exclamation. Never- 
theless, he considered it behoved him to know how this quarrel had come about. 
Moreover, it was considerably to his pecuniary interests to bridge it over, if possible ; 
and yet, for a downright pull over Iloxby, the major felt he would sacrifice a good 
deal. 

“Hard vrords, libellous words, my dear Dctfield,” he replied, softly, — “ wortls that 
require justification of some sort. Boxby, remember, has the credit of an upright 
man of business.” 

“ No doubt. I fancy you’ve a good many in the city of the same kind,” replied the 
guardsman, dryly. “Held fine men of business, because they make money, but 
viewed in a somewhat different light by the public, if it ever happens to transpire how 
they do it. Roxby is one of these. He proposes to sell me his ward.” 

It would be absurd to suppose this astonished the major. Without positive knowl- 
edge, yet he had never doubted that lloxby meant to make capital of Bessie Stanbury’s 
hand in this fashion. 

“ ISlight I inquire the exact terms in which the proposal was couched ? ” asked the 
major, blandly, so far forgetting himself as to push up his spectacles, and allow his 
keen eyes to gaze straight into Detfield’s. 

“ Yes. He asked five thousand of Bessie’s fortune as the price of his good-will.” 

“ Ah ! ” ejaculated the major, — “ and you ? ” 

“ Told him what I thought of him in the plainest possible English.” 

The major rubbed his hands thoughtfully. 

“What ! seventeen and a half per cent., my dear lloxby, on the whole plunder,” he 
mused ; “ and ten per cent, to me on your share of it. My worthy friend, I don’t 
think you were too liberal to your partner.” 

“ Should 3'ou like to know, Captain Dctfield, what I think of this ? ” he continued, 
speaking aloud. 

“ That’s precisely what I have come to learn.” 

“Well, I think you have been very foolish. Stop, don’t interrupt me. I’ll admit, 
if you like, that lloxby is a rogue. He is, and a deuced clever one to boot. But if 
you mean to marry INliss Stanbury you had lietter make friends with — let us say the 
!Mammon of unrighteousness. If you don’t, I’m afraid you’ll find it go a bit hard 
with you. Quite possible, I think, — mind, I don’t know, — that he has some influence 
with Simmonds.” 


The Major's Advice. 183 

have told him my opinion oL' him, and I’m not "oing to gainsay it,” retorted 
Charlie, doggedly. 

“Xow don’t be absnvd. Tloxby is no., (lie man to let passionate words stand in the 
way of business. 1 fanc}' he lias heaid an unfavoral'.le estimate of his character once 
or twice in his time. Dear me! it occurs to ari (d' us. I have had harsh language 
levelled at me before now, abliough 1 i. > ahvays to *lo my duty towards my neighbor. 
They would perhaps venture on nioie; but an old soldier, as you know and others 
know, understands how to curb license of speech.” 

The easy urbanity with whieh the major uttered tliis sentence was delicious. It 
was suavity concealing the pistol : that punctilious courtesy that so often preceded 
the bitterest quarrels in the old duelling days. True, the major has liveU later than 
those times, but also he has lived much abroad, and justified his luck at CcarU on 
more than one occasion in the field. In years gone by, Claxby Jenkens had been 
well known at Spa, Ilomburg, Baden, etc., as a fortunate gambler, and one ever ready 
to dissipate any misunderstanding of the card-table with a hair-trigger. 

Charlie listened to this address with no little astonishment. lie had his own 
opinion concerning the major’s military antecedents, and considered his claim to the 
title he bore of very dubious character. Still he had not come there to quarrel with 
Claxby Jenkens. lie was quite full enough of troubles without embarking in more. 

“ lloxby has taken his line, and I have taken mine,” he said gravely, after a little. 
“ I am not going to begin by swindling my wife that is to be, out of five thousand 
pounds. I’d sooner never wed her, than win her on those terms. We must wait; ” 
and Charlie rose to go. 

“ Just, of course, what you can’t afford to do. Simmonds will devour you, body 
and bones, before three weeks are over your head, and you will have lost what it’s 
difficult to receive, — position.” 

“ What must be, must,” replied Charlie, sententiously. “ I’ve been a fool, but I’m 
not going to keep what you call position by being an utter blackguard. Good-by.” 

“ Well, remember that I have given you the best advice I could, and that I think 
you very foolish for not following it ; but I do rather like your pluck, and if ever it 
lies in my power to do you a turn in re Boxby, you may depend upon me.” 

“ Thank you,” replied Charlie ; “ but that’s rather a thousand to fifteen chances, I’m 
afraid.” 

“ You’re right, it is; but should I tell you to back it, do. I don’t play lloxby till 
I’ve a very strong hand. Good-by.” 

, It was curious that a cool, cautious man like Claxby Jenkens should allow himself 
to be carried away even thus far, and commit himself to antagonizing a man who had 
so invariably proved too much for him as lloxby. Yet this is often the case ; the 
slircwdest speculator cannot resist the bias of a special enmity. Men will sacrifice 
their own immediate interests in the prosecution of a good quarrel. 

The lawyers could tell strange tales of money lavished on the contention of rights 
of way, or similar cases, which mattered really but little to the belligerents, though 


184 


Two Kisses. 


they were fought out to the bitter end with an animosity that caused utter oblivion 
of tlie cost of battle. 

So Claxby Jenkens was thoroughly prepared to sacrifice time, money, and other 
advantages, should he ever perceive a successful opportunity of entering the lists 
against Iloxby. lie had over-reached him two or three times. Let him look to him- 
self if ever he, the major, held the cards. 

Claxby Jenkens sat with his head resting on his hands for some minutes after his 
visitor had left him. He was turning over in his mind wliat it was possible that 
Roxby might have been guilty of, with regard of this trust of Bessie Stanbuiy’s. 
lie knew his friend Iloxby well, and thought it quite probable he had dipjK‘d pretty 
deep into his ward’s fortune already. 

“ Five thousand he wants assigned to him right out, and five thousand or more, at 
least, is probably invested in some straw and waste-paper speculation, the shares of 
which are down at zero. I’d give a good deal to know who is his fellow-trustee. lie 
must be a nonenity, or Iloxby would never dare propose such a nefarious game as 
this to Detfield. Ila ! ” he chuckled, “ I should like to have seen ray esteemed 
coadjutor’s face, when the guardsman cut up awkward. Over-play, that, my dear 
friend ; rattling out your trumps without knowing your partner’s calibre. Passing the 
king is awkward, when the man going shares with^ you calls attention to the same. 
For once, my friend Iloxby, I knew more than you. I could have told you that 
because a gentleman’s broke, it don’t always follow he’s turned blackguard. I could 
have warned you that Detfield must be souiulcd delicately, certain to break away 
from clumsy handling. You fish with very strong tackle, and don’t waste time over 
landing your victims; but then you see you have the hook pretty deep in their gills 
as a rule. When it comes to a light line, and really playing a fish, I think I’ve the 
best of you. Yet you had fair reason to suppose that Detfield was struck pretty 
deep. I guessed his temper better than you, though, and could have told you to be 
careful how you opened the trenches. Well, we shall see what comes of it; but, if 
ever, ray esteemed partner, you happen to be on the end of my line, I’ll make you 
acknowledge I can handle a rod.” 


■oo>^o 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

AUNT MATILDA SIDES WITH THE LOVERS. 

!Miss Matilda, now she has accepted the fact of Bessie’s engagement, is of course 
enthusiastic about it. She pooh-poohs Aunt Clem, and takes the whole alfair under 
her immediate protection. When her sister and Bessie hint that they have fears about 
what Mr. Roxby may say to it, that Charlie is nervous on this point. Miss IMatilda 
literally stiffens in her skirts, and replies that she presumes her opinion will have some 


/ 

Aimt Matilda Sides with the Lovers. 


185 


weight with that gentleman. Tliat she has thought it over, that it is the height of 
imprudence for a girl to choose a Imshand from one of the vagabond professions must 
be allowed ; hut Bessie has done so, and therefore there is no more to he said. 

“If the chit chooses to run away from her foolish old aunts, — you needn’t hem, 
Clementina, you’re getting on, — and die upon what somebody calls India’s coral 
strand, — though if it is all coral I don’t know why coral should be the price it is in the 
shops, — still she shall have the satisfaction of thinking in her last moments, and after 
pointing out the extreme folly of her engagement, we did the best we could for her, 
on ascertaining that she would not listen to reason.” 

To which species of half-support, half-badinage, Bessie usually replied with 
laughter, caresses, and promises of Indian shawls, if ever she should really proceed to 
the East. 

• “ But you know, Aunt Matilda, Charlie is in the Guards, and they never go to 
India, or abroad, except on service,” Bessie would observe. 

“ My dear,” Miss Stanbury would retort, solemnly, “ we’re always fighting some- 
where. We’re always putting somebody to rights, and if somebody objects, well, then 
we send the soldiers to point out how ridiculous he’s been, whether it is in Africa or 
Abyssinia ; and when we’ve killed a king or burnt a capital, we boast we’re extending 
civilization. And as for you — well, you’re going to marry one of these apostles of 
civilization, and think just because he happens to belong to a home regiment that he 
will stay at home. Pooh, child ! when he gets tired of your pretty face, he’U be like 
all the rest of them, and turn secretary or aid-de-camp, or volunteer, or something — 
I don’t know what ; but he’ll be olf to where the science of killing is being carried on, 
depend upon it.” 

But when, some two or three mornings after the announcement of her engagement, 
Bessie came down to breakfast with a pout on her lip, the suspicion of a tear trembling 
on her lashes, and a telegram in her hand. Miss Matilda raised her head, and 
exclaimed : — 

“ Mercy upon us ! what ails the child ? He’s not ordered to Singapore — wherever 
that may be — yet, is he ? ” 

“ No, aunt, dear, don’t tease me to-day, please. This is from Charlie, he can’t be 
here to-day to explain himself, because he’s on duty ; but he telegraphs to say that 
Mr. Roxby will not hear of his marrying me. But I will, in spite of ten thousand 
Boxbys, if I wait ten years for him,” and Bessie stamped her little foot on the carpet, 
threw back her head defiantly, and looked a nineteenth-century heroine all.over. 

If you think there are no heroines in silken garments, you mistake greatly. There 
are plenty of women who drive their carriages, and mix in good society, who sufter 
mutely, silently, and live more heroic lives than those who gain the badge of heroism 
in a few hours or minutes of passionate excitement : — 

** For the mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain, 

And the anguish of the singer makes the sweetness of the strain.” 


186 


Tivo Kisses. 


“O Bessie darling, I am so sorry,” cried Aunt Clem. “We must have a good 
talk at once over things. True love, alas — ” 

“Don't believe in obstacles or whimpering,” interrupted Miss Stanbury, tartly. 
“ Yes, we must have a talk, as you say, and that pretty speedily ; but not the sort of 
talk you mean, Clementina. I intend to have it out 'with Mr. Boxby before many 
hours are over my head. I mean to know why he takes it upon himself to reject a 
proposal for my ward’s hand, without consulting me. Bessie is my ward as much as his.” 

“ Of course I am! ” cried the girl; “ and we will go together. Aunt Matilda, will 
we not ? ” 

“ Hum 1 my dear, I don’t know about that. I think perhaps I had better see Mr. 
Boxby alone in the first instance. It would be the more proper thing, you know.” 

“ Yes, aunt,” replied Bessie, softly, as she insidiously nestled herself into !Miss 
Stanbury ’s ample skirts ; “ but you know it w'ould be the more practical thing to give 
me a chance of also expressing my opinion.” 

“ Girls of your age are not supposed to have opinions,” retorted Aunt Matilda, 
laughing. 

“But they have, and pretty strong ones too, when it comes to whether they are to 
give up a lover or not,” said the girl, with an emphatic little nod of her head. “ Don’t 
you be afraid, mine aunt ; I’ll be as still as a mouse till you’ve said your say. But 
when it comes to resigning Charlie, I mean to speak out.” 

“And what do you mean to say, Bessie ? ” inquired Miss Clementina. 

“ That I won’t,” replied the girl, stoutly. 

“Very good, my dear!” observed Miss Stanbury. “That’s laconic, and to the 
point. A great matter in women’s argument, to say notliing of men’s.” 

“ But do you suppose you two will put down Mr. Boxby ? ” said Miss Clementina, 
in somewhat quavering tones. “ You know he is so very decided, Matilda, dear.” 

“I don’t think,” said Miss Stanbury, addressing an imaginary audience, “that I 
have been usually considered weak in character. Of course I admit that we are not, 
as a rule, judges of ourselves ; but still I think, pardon me, Clementina, that I gener- 
ally hold my own.” 

Aunt Clem, knowing that, as far as she was concerned, this was most indubitably 
the case, cordially assented. As for Bessie, feeling conscious of having Avound Aunt 
Matilda round her finger many times, she did not endorse this statement with quite 
the enthusiasm Miss Stanbury deemed it required. 

“ You’ve doubts, child ? ” she asked, sharply. 

“ Say, rather fears, aunt,” replied the girl, sadly. “ You are very kind, but I am 
only afraid Mr. Boxby may prove too strong for you. He holds great power, you 
know, as far as I am concerned at present.” 

“ Booh ! he will listen to me,” retorted Miss Stanbury, pluming herself. 

“ lie wouldn’t listen to Charlie,” exclaimed Bessie, dolefully, retlecting, Avith all a 
woman’s faith in her first love, that the pleading she had found so irresistible herself 
must have succeeded Avere success at the command of human tongue. 


Aunt Matilda Sides with the Lovers. 


187 


She knew nothing of Mr. Roxby’s views of a suitable partner for her hand. 

“Don’t you think, aunt, it would be as well to wait until I have seen Charlie, 
before we speak our minds to Mr. Iloxby ? ” observed Bessie, shyly, after a short 
pause. 

“AVell,” exclaimed Miss Stanbury, “this may be prudence; but if this is being in 
love, I intend, miss, to study the phenomenon. The girls of my time did not give 
away their hearts in: the off-hand Avay you have thought proper to do, but when we 
did, we gave them with a will. We felt, — we, we in short, — ” 

“Were positive volcanoes,” cried Bessie, with a merry laugh. 

“ Nothing of the sort, little impudence ! ” replied Miss Stanbury, joining for a 
second in her niece’s merriment; “ but we loved in real earnest.” 

The girl looked at her aunt for some few moments. Miss Matilda’s face had soft- 
ened, and the sharp, dark eyes gazed dreamily back into days long gone by. Little 
doubt, as that silence stole over her, that Miss Stanbury conjured up a love-dream, 
bright once as her niece’s was now, which had never been realized. Bessie read the 
saddened, serious features aright, and forbore to interrupt the thread of those old 
memories. If she had entertained any doubt, the nervous, anxious glance with which 
Miss Clementina regarded her sister would have convinced her that she was right, 
and that her stately, even still handsome, aunt had gone through a serious, though 
unfortunate, attachment. 

“Well, child, perhaps you are right,” remarked Miss Stanbury, at length. “It 
would be better on the whole, I think, to hear Charlie — hem ! I mean Captain Det- 
field’s story.” 

“Call him Charlie, Aunt Matilda; he’s to be your nephew, you know.” 

“ No, my dear» I don’t know ; but, if it’s any satisfaction to you. I’ll own I hope he 
may. There, that’ll do,” she continued, in reply to somewhat vehement caresses on 
Bessie’s part. “ On my word, I think you’re mistaking me for him.” 

“ Aunt Matilda ! ” cried the girl, springing to her feet, with her cheeks all aflame. 

“ Pooh ! pooh ! Don’t look so shocked, you little prude, as if kissing and courting 
didn’t always go together. You can take yourself off now; I want to talk with 
Clementina.” 

The two Misses Stanbuiy differed considerably about this forthcoming inteiwiew 
with Mr. Boxby, — the subject of their conversation after Bessie had left the room. 
While Miss Matilda announced her intention of carrying matters with a high hand, 
her sister earnestly deprecated any such course. She pointed out that Mr. Boxby, 
suave as he was in manner, had always been very firm and dictatorial whenever it 
had come to a matter of business, and adjured Miss Stanbury to speak him fair. 
But that lady, without reason, had allowed herself to attain wliite heat — if it may 
be so described — on the subject, and had no notion of anybody disapproving of this 
marriage save herself. It was clear Miss ^latilda meant to disburthen herself. Hav- 
ing set her face against the engagement, in the first instance, like all renegades, she 
was now a fiery partisan. She panted to give somebody, or anybody, who objected to 


188 


Two Kisses. 


it, a bit of her mind. Miss Staiibuiy had never been known to have that craving 
long without there being found a recipient of that oration. 

Great was the excitement when Captain Detficld was announced the next day. 
That usually nonchalant officer could not but be aware of a rustling disappearing skirts 
upward as he himself ascended to the drawing-room. There he found Gessie alone. 

“ Come and tell me all about it, Charlie,” she exclaimed, their first salutations over. 
“ And mind all, everything. I must know all ; and remember it makes no difference.” 

“ I hope not, darling, further than that you will have to wait. You’ll do that, won’t 
you ? ” 

“You know I will. But what did Mr. Boxby say ? ” 

“ Oh, the old story. Of course he knew I was broke, and no match for you ; could 
not think of consenting. The old stock-comedy guardian all over. He hasn’t pro- 
duced another w'ooer credited with his support, has he, Bessie ? ” 

“Xot much use if he did,” said Bessie, with a toss of her head. “ But that is not 
all, and I want to know all.” 

Now this was just what Charlie had been puzzling his brains over for the last 
twenty-four hours. Was he justified in telling his affianced what a precious scoundrel 
slie had for her guardian ? — that the respectable Mr. Boxby was quite as willing to 
deal for the disposal of her hand as if he had been a slave-dealer on the White Nile 
or at Tunis. It w^as not that he had the slightest compunction about exposing lloxby, 
but he shrank from inflicting on the girl he loved what must necessarily be a painful 
and alarming explanation. 

lie knew thoroughly what little power he had to 'watch over her ; that even his very 
liberty was almost a toss up ; that the morrow might see him arrested for debt. But, 
supposing it did not, how could he interpose between Bessie and her guardian ? All 
this had troubled Detfield considerably since that unlucky dinner in Gordon square. 

The girl watched his face, -while he still hesitated. Those that love are quick to 
read the features of those who hold their hearts. She saw the doubt with which he 
struggled. What it was she knew not, but it was clear as daylight to her that her 
lover debated in his own mind whether he should tell her all that had passed between 
himself and lloxby. 

“ Charlie, dear,” she said, softly, at length, “ surely there should be no secrets 
betw^een us two. Am I not entitled to know all ? ” 

“ Of course you are, Bessie ; but forgive me if I pause a little. I’m bothered, 
child ; I can’t make up my mind whether you had better know" this or not.” 

“ I feel I’d better know, and woman’s instinct rarely deceives her. What is it ? ” 

“ Can you promise to hold your tongue about it, — not to mention it either to your 
aunts or Roxby, — if I tell you ? ” demanded Charlie, looking down into the sweet, 
earnest, loving face that now rested against his arm. 

“ Yes, I promise,” she said, simply. 

“ Then, Bessie, all I can say is, that your hand is a mere matter of sale ; ” and with 
that he poured into her ears the story of Roxbv’s proposition. 


Aunt Matilda Sides with the Lovers. 


189 


She spoke not a word till his story was finished. Then she rose, with face pale, 
calm, and resolute. 

“I’m in the hands, Charlie, it seems, of a very consummate scoundrel; but, my 
darling, I shall never blench from my troth. We may have to wait; but he cannot 
interfere with me much. My aunts will see that I’m not bullied ; and, though a man 
who would propose what he did to you is not likely to stick at trifles, I don’t think he 
can annoy me to any great extent. But I want one thing from you,” she continued, 
looking earnestly into his face. 

“ What is that ? ” 

“ Release from that promise.” 

“ Certainly not,” replied Detfield, hastily. “ Think for a minute, Bessie. It will 
only complicate affairs much more. It is far better that both you and your aunts 
should assume no such knowledge. Let them do anything they like, but never 
allude to that. It can do no good.” 

“ Aunt Matilda and I, Charlie, intend to have it out with Mr. Boxby almost imme- 
diately. Aunt intends to know upon -what he grounds his objections.” 

“ Very little trouble about replying to that, sweet. And you, Bessie ? ” 

“ I intend to tell him I will marry no one else.” 

“ Well, confine yourself to that statement. But, believe me, Boxby is a dangerous 
man when aftronted. I’m not sure whether I shan’t pay due penalty for telhng him 
what I thought of him. We won’t let it go further.” 

“It shall be as my lord wills,” smiled the girl, as she dropped her head on his 
shoulder. 

But at this juncture Miss Stanbuiy, having heralded her coming by a most unneces- 
sary altercation with the door-handle, presented herself. 

“ Well, Captain Detfield,” she exclaimed, sharply, “ you’ve been kicked out, Bessie 
informs me ; sent about your business by Mr. Boxby. You don’t look much like a 
case of rejected addresses either.” 

“ And don’t feel it,” replied Charlie, laughing, as he shook hands. “ I’ve too good 
friends in th^ citadel to despair, one of the most important of which is — ” 

“ The girl herself,” interrupted Miss Matilda. “ Yes, I know you were going to 
say something pretty to me, and now Mr. Boxby has put my blood up by his cavalier 
treatment, you can put me down as on your side. You are a very bad match for her 
all the same, you know.” 

“ Aunt ! aunt ! ” exclaimed Bessie. 

. , “Yes, he is, child ; and quite aware of it.” 

“ Thoroughly. I’ve only one thing to say. Miss Stanbuiy, — I had no idea she was 
an heiress when I asked her to marry me.” 

“ I know you hadn’t, — another instance of the folly of man. I wonder how you 
proposed to live. Never mind ; I like you even for that very foolishness. Captain 
Detfield, and intend to fight your battle for you as far as I can.” 


190 


Two Kisses. 


Detfield bowed, and Bessie kissed her aunt. 

“ AVell, sir,” resumed Miss Stanburv, laughing, “ you’re a soldier, and know that 
we mustn’t complain if the opening of the campaign looks a little against us. ISIake 
this girl a good husband if we win, and I’ll ask no more.” / 

“ Of course he will,” said Bessie, calmly ; thereby, with all a ^woman’s tact, reliev- 
ing her lover from an awkward protestation. 

“Ah, my dear,” retorted Miss Stanburv, “I’ll hear what you’ve got to say a 
twelvemonth after your wedding. If we didn’t all think that in 3m ur stage of pro- 
ceedings, we should never get married.” 

It was not likely that Detfield or Bessie would attempt to reply to this speech ; but 
that jmu can talk without speaking is a fiict, however much ^mu may laugh at the 
phraseolog3^ The girl’s lips syllabled, “ Tell her all ; ” and Charlie replied l\y a quick 
nod of dissent. 

This little telegraphing did not escape Miss Stanbur}’-, but she forbore to notice it. 

“ Bessie, Captain Detfield, has no doubt told you my intention of seeing Mr. 
Roxb}^ immediately in jmur interests, and ^mu, I presume, have acquainted her with 
all that it is needful for her to know.” 

“ Yes, and I cannot express my thanks for the way you are standing my friend on 
the occasion.” 

“No thanks, sir. We’ll shake hands after the battle’s won, and I’ve already told 
3'ou how to repaj" me. But remember, Matilda Stanbuiy has never been a lukewarm 
friend, and she’s taken a fancy to you, I don’t know why. Excuse an old woman’s 
joke, but I really think it is because jmu happen to be the greatest scapegrace she was 
ever acquainted with, and that jmu have fallen in love with the greatest torment she 
was ever afflicted with ; ” and before the assailed had time to replj^, with a ringing 
laugh Miss Stanbury had left the room. 

“ Your aunt’s a brick, Bessie ! ” exclaimed Detfield, as the door closed. “ I should 
like to buy her something, if I onlj’' knew what.” 

“ Good Heavens ! don’t appeal to me,” laughed Bessie. “ I assure you, the advent 
of her birthday occasions me weeks of thought.” 

“ Well, good-by; I shall reflect upon the subject. Meanwhile, we’ll pin our faith 
on Aunt Matilda.” 

“ Yes, and you must believe in Bessie, too, 5'-ou know.” 

Charlie, having replied in satisfactory fashion to this last observation, took his 
departure. 

A tendency to shower gifts upon those who have pleased us is veiy common. The 
difuculty of selecting a suitable present is, it may be presumed, an interposition of 
Providence to prevent our exceeding our incomes. We ponder this weighty question 
so long that the time goes by, and eventually we give nothing but those liberal 
intentions. 


Which Abounds in Plain Speaking. 191 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

WHICH ABOUNDS IN PLAIN SPEAKING. 

There are many people who can decide quickly enough upon the course they 
intend to pursue, but shrink, dally, and delay when it comes to active measures. 
They want nerve to face the unpleasantness which the line of conduct their judg- 
ment urges them to adopt necessitates. If ever it was your lot to witness the levee 
of one with power in the land, j^ou must, while waiting, have seen many instances of 
this in the antechamber. 

Of modest merit with powerful claims, shivering at the thought of confronting the 
great man; of reckless self-assertion, without the slightest grounds for demanding 
what it requires, tripping jubilantly, hopefully, into the great man’s room, and 
returning either triumphant, or not one whit cast down by failure. It is there the 
justice of the w’orld is meted out somewhat hardly. It is always odds on confidence 
versus modesty. Again, confidence is always willing to try its luck over again, while 
the man wanting in faith in himself falls back appalled by the first rebuff. 

Painful places those antechambers, wherein sit the supplicants for the loaves^ and 
fishes. I can remember a public office in which one sat who always reminded those 
whose duty or necessity h might be to confer with him, of an ill-disposed mastiff on 
the chain. He apparently deemed that his position required him to be ill-tempered ; 
that discourtesy to his inferiors asserted his dignity ; that insulting those who had to 
transact business with him impressed them with a sense of his. power and ability. 
Where he may be now, I know not, — making himself disagreeable, probably, in the 
Elysian Fields ; but a jubilant ciy went through a large profession when he seceded 
from office. 

Miss Stanbury Avas a Avoman of decision, and one Avho liked to carry out her vieAVS 
as quickly as might be. Once her mind Avas made up to confront Mr. Roxby, and 
support Charlie Detfield, she thought the sooner she and Roxb}", in her oAvn homely 
phrase, had it out, the better. That Miss Matilda was a little blind, in the ardor of 
her partisanship, to the weakness of her cause must be admitted. She kneAV nothing 
of her co-guardian’s nefarious proposals ; and, putting that on one side, there could be 
no dispute that Mr. Roxby Avas only doing his duty by his Avard in setting his face 
ggainst this marriage. But Miss Matilda, Avhen she took a thing up never did it by 
halves, and penned a note next day, requesting Mr. Roxby to call and confer with her ^ 
upon serious business, at his earliest convenience. 

That gentleman-Avas not surprised in the least at the summons. 

** Of course, the young villain has got round all the AA’^omcn,” he mused ; ‘‘ Bessie, 
naturally, head over ears in love Avith him, — a girl isr pretty sure to commit that 
weakness when she ought not, — I, represented as the tyrannical guardian, and her 


102 


Two Kisses. 


aunts, romantic as all elderly spinsters are, determined to take the part of the young 
people. Ordinary eourse of events that. AVhat I should like to know is, whether the 
young fool has thought proper to blurt out my proposition ? Who could have dreamt 
of a man in his position presuming to be virtuous ? Well, I intend him, at all events, 
to learn that virtue requires self-sacrifice, and is its own reward. Three or four weeks 
in a sponging-house will probably modif}^ his notions considerably. I ought to have 
waited till he was there before I spoke. Yet how could I guess that idiot Jenkens 
would make such a mistake in his man ? — that one so utterly ruined would not snatch 
at the plank that promised safety ? *’ 

That Charlie Detfield should have taken the line he did was utterly incomprehen- 
sible to Mr. lloxby. He had dealt with men in difficulties many times, and was too 
^:onv^ersant how the tone of morality lowers, under s\ich circumstances, not to believe 
that the guardsman would have closed willingly with his proposal. 

Roxby had fought his way out of too many delicate situations in his time to feel in 
the least uneasy about confronting Miss Stanbury. On the contrary, he jumped at 
the proposed interview; would, indeed, have requested one, just to feel how the land 
lay, had Miss Matilda not taken the initiative. One of his maxims was to be aggres- 
sive ; to meet attack half-way and carry the war into the enemy’s country, if possible. 
Miss Stanbury had, no doubt, a good deal to say ; well, she would find that he had 
still more. There certainly had never been serious dispute between them as yet, and 
it was impossible to say how such might end if it should happen. Still he recollected 
with considerable satisfaction that the lady had mostly follow^ed his advice or sugges- 
tions in the past without discussion. Was it likely she would prove troublesome now ? 

Miss Stanbury had promised Bessie that she should be present at this interview ; 
but, when the thing became definitely fixed, the good lady got a little nerved. She 
remembered Mr. Boxby’s cool, terse, logical way of putting things, and decided that 
she would see him alone in the first instance. 

“I shall send for you, Bessie, rest assured; but I think it best Mr. Boxby and I 
should have a private confabulation to begin with.” 

“ Very well,” returned lier niece ; “but mind, you promise that I shall see him 
before he goes. I must tell him my determination regarding Charlie. I wish him to 
know that from my own lips.” 

“It shall be as you wish, child,” replied Miss Matilda; “but if I can’t win the 
battle for you, do you suppose you will turn the tide ? ” 

“No; but Mr. lioxby will thoroughly understand, after he has heard what I have 
^got to say, that, at all events, he need not sanction any other pretender to my hand.” 

“ Oh, yes, my dear,” replied Miss Stanbury, a little sharply (her bristles were up 
in expectation of the coming contlict) ; “ of course, you must say your sa}- ; descant 
for ten minutes on Charlie’s manifold perfections, — he’s simply a liarum scarnm, 
ruined soldier, you know, — and then wind up as I’m told they do at the theatres, with 
the terrible avowal that ‘you never, never, never will be another’s.’ ” 

“ Aunt Matilda, you ought to be ashamed of youi*self ! ” cried Bessie, passionately. 


Which Abounds in Plain Speaking. 


193 


I know I ought, my dear ; but I’m afraid, in a common-sense point of view, it 
should be for taking your part.” 

• “Oaunt!” 

“ There, don’t be afraid. I have pledged my word, and I’ll stand by the soldier, — 
my colors, I suppose I should have said. Now run away ; Mr. Roxby should be here 
almost immediately.” 

A few minutes later, and that unctuous gentleman was shaking hands with Miss 
Stanbury, and inquiring anxiously and impressively concerning tlic health of herself 
and her sister ; so earnest, indeed, in these inquiries, that one might have almost 
surmised he- contemplated a closer connection with one of them, or, at least, had a 
vested interest in their living or dying. This was Mr. Koxby’s way, and it is astonish- 
ing how far this feigned anxiety about 3’^our friend’s health will cany you. An 
absorbing concern regarding an uncle’s gout has been known to produce a favorable 
codicil to the nephew ere now. 

Of course, Miss Stanburj-,” said the financier, their greetings over, ‘‘ you wish to 
see me about this unfortunate infatuation of Bessie’s ? ” 

I don’t call it an unfortunate infatuation,” replied Miss Matilda, sharply. 

Then, my dear madam,” observed Boxby, with a deprecatoiy smile, you must 
allow me to ask what you do call it. Of course, it has sprung into life without your 
sanction, and I can conceive you much troubled at discovering w'hat had happened. 
A sad business, very ! ” and the financier shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I don’t intend to admit it is a sad business in the least,” returned Miss Matilda, 
speaking rapidly', and truth to tell- a little shrilly. ‘^The man is a gentleman — ay 
mark me, a thorough gentleman ; he’s of good family, and the child is in love with 
him ; of course w^e know he’s in debt ; but Bessie can pay those for him, and they 
will still have enough to scramble along on.” 

Bo 3'ou mean to saj" that you are advocating the attack of the greatest reprobate 
in the Household Brigade on 3"our niece’s fortune ? Surely" I cannot understand }"0U 
aright ? ” 

Miss Stanbury was perfectly aw’-are that she was advocate to a weak case, but when 
a woman takes up a cause the last thing to put her dowm is argument. 

** Yes,” she said, “ I do. First, I deny that he is anything like the reprobate you 
assert him to be.” 

Living here at Islington, jmu would, of course, have eveiy opportunity of forming 
your judgment on that point,” interposed Mr. Roxby, sarcastically". 

^ ^ Miss Matilda reddened at the taunt. 

I know a gentleman when I sec him,” she replied in heightened tones, and I 
know^ a man in love when I see him. I dare say he’s sown a pretty crop of wild oats 
likd many of them, and has y-et to pay for their garnering; but he loves Bessie 
thoroughly, and if he marries her I have no fear but that he wuU go on steadily- for 
the future.” 

Fxcuse me, JSIiss Stanbury, but the reformation of the rake l)y matiumony has 


194 


Two Kisses. 


always been a most favorite hallucination of your sex. You must pardon me, if I 
cannot agree with you. Men are apt to regard it as a veiy dubious experiment. I can 
only say, I should regret to see Bessie make a trial of it.” 

“ You object to this mamage ? ” 

“ Now really, you know, my dear Miss Stanbuiy,” replied Boxby, with a benignant 
smile, “ you are jesting with me when you ask such a question. How can j^ou expect 
a business man like myself to consent to his ward’s marrying a broken spendthrift ? ” 

“Well,” said Miss Matilda, “ I wish it, and intend to promote it to the best of my 
ability, there ! ” and Miss Stanbuiy drew herself up in her chair defiantly. 

“ Quite evident now,” thought Boxby, “ that Detfield has kept silence concerning 
my proposition. My hand is strong ; it’s time to play out trumps and have done with 
this.” 

“ Of course I regret,” he said gently, “ to be compelled to take an opposite view of 
this matter from you ; but the world will undoubtedly support me. I must at once put 
my decisive veto on any engagement between my ward and Captain Detfield.” 

“ In defiance of my express wish to the contraiy ? ” 

“ I can only regret that what I presume is your womanly interest in a love affair 
prevents your beholding this specious impostor in his true colors,” replied Mr. Boxby, 
suavely. 

“ lie’s not an impostor,” cried Miss Matilda, hotly. “ He never made any disguise 
about his difficulties from the first.” 

“ It is useless to prolong the discussion,” returned the financier. “ I have given 
you my decision, and intend to abide by it. I will now say good-by ; ” and Mr. 
Boxby rose. 

• “ Stop,” exclaimed Miss Matilda, as she rang the bell ; “ I promised Bessie that 
she should see you.” 

“ For what good ? ” he demanded. “ Surely you might tell her what my intentions 
in this matter are.” 

“ She wishes to speak her own mind on the subject,” replied Miss Stanbuiy, dryly. 

“ Beally, I have no time to listen to the lamentations of a love-sick girl, and must 
beg to be excused,” returned Boxby. But ere his hand could reach the door, it 
opened and Bessie appeared. 

“ IIow do you do ? ” she said, in a slightly nervous manner, but with a haughty 
carriage of her head that arrested Miss Stanbury’s attention at once. There was a 
defiance in the girl’s bearing, such as her aunt had never seen yet. It did not escape 
so shrewd an observer as Mr. Boxby ; outwardly that gentleman was bland as ever in 
his salutation ; inwardly he muttered, “ She knows all. The fool couldn’t keep it 
from his sweetheart, of course. I might have guessed as much.” But, with all his 
old thcorj’- strong upon him, Boxby resolved at once to come to the point. 

“ No use, Bessie,” he said, “ wasting time about why you want to see me. I’ve 
talked over the whole affair with your aunt, and told her, as I now tell you, that I cannot 
give my consent to your marrying a man in Captain Detfield’s notoriously embarrassed 


Which Abotmds in Plain Speaking. 


195 


circumstances. I am very, very sorry to have to thwart your wishes ; but I should be 
false to my trust if I decided otherwise.” 

A most paternal speech, and past all objection, supposing you did not know the 
inner life of Iloxby, and of what that brilliant financier was capable. 

“ I intend, Mr. lioxby, to dispose of myself,” replied the girl, proudly. “ It is well 
you should know this at once ; well you should understand this poor hand is not on. 
sale to the highest bidder. Do I make myself clear ? ” 

“ Perfectly ! ” rejoined her guardian, with an easy smile. “ You mean to marry for 
love, not money ; foolish from my point of view, of course, but young ladies of your 
age are apt to be romantic, — to neglect substantial benefits for a day-dream.” 

His diplomatic speech puzzled Bessie. 

“I have pledged my troth to Captain Dctfield,” she continued, after a slight pause. 

“ So I am grieved to hear. When you are of age it will, of course, be in your 
own power to carry out that preposterous engagement,” replied Iloxby, blandly. “ But 
there are a good many changes take place in our opinions in three years. Quite pos- 
sible that Captain Detfield may deem his circumstances require a wealthy bride in a 
very much shorter period.” 

The girl’s eyes flashed with anger, as she replied ; — 

At all events I trust him, and can wait.” 

No doubt,” retorted Iloxby. You are young ; can afford to wait. He can’t.” 

‘‘ You don’t know Charlie,” cried Bessie, as the angry blood rushed tumultuously 
to her temples. 

Hum ! fairly, I think. A broken-down guardsman, endeavoring to avert ruin by 
marrying an heiress. Pooh ! a very commonplace character.” 

It was rash of him to launch that taunt. He might have seen the gathering passion 
in the girl’s face the last few minutes. 

“ Yes,” she cried, all recollections of her promise scattered to the winds. “ You do 
know him now ; and he and I know you. You have discovered that, if he is ruined, 
he is not the unprincipled fool with whom you thought you had to deal ; that he 
scorns to purchase his bride’s hand with her own money. He has thrown your 
infamous proposal back in your own teeth, and given in plain language his opinion 
of you. Mine, sir, coincides with his.” 

“ Doubtless,” he murmured, with an evil sneer. 

“ His expressions were none too strong,” she continued, passionately. Whether 
you can work him harm or not, I don’t know ; but, if you can, you will most likely.” 

/“ You shall see, miss,” he muttered between his teeth. 

“ Less than three years, and we shall be beyond the reach of your malice. Mean- 
svhile, don’t count upon my hand as negotiable in the money-market,” and, with a 
bend of extreme dignity, Bessie withdrew. 

As for Miss Matilda, she had sat open-eyed and thunderstruck during this stormy 
conversation. She had been actually appalled by her niece’s vehemence. Since her 
childish days Miss Stanbury had never seen Bessie in such wrath. 


196 


Two Kisses. 


As the girl left the room, she turned to Mr. Boxby to seek an explanation, and 
a ">ked, “ AVhat does she mean ? ” 

Mean, madam ? ” replied Boxhy, -with lips white with passion ; “ that she is pos- 
i.jssed of the most infernal temper of any young woman in England, and is the most 
infatuated idiot it has ever been my lot to come across.” 

“ Mr. Roxby ! ” exclaimed Aunt Matilda, bristling with indignation at his coarse 
abuse of her niece. 

But that gentleman simply muttered a curt good-day, and was gone. 

CHAPTEB XXXVI. 

BROODING ON VENGEANCE. 

Montague Gore, in his agony, is brooding over the wrong, the shame, that has 
come to him, in a fashion not unlikely to result in murder. The days of duelling are 
over in England he knows, and, even if they were not, his feeling at the present 
moment inclines him more to shooting down his wife’s seducer, as if he were a dog. 
There are men, he is aware, who are quite content with the decision of the divorce 
court in similar cases. lie has a horror of such scandal and exposure. The more he 
thinks over it, the more does he feel reckless of life and eager for vengeance. To 
slay this man who has stricken him, to kill himself, thereby avoiding a shameful death 
or a lifetime of agony, seems to his morbid mind what it is best for him to do. 

Beligion, moral principles, all forbid such action ; but when a man, passionately in 
love with a woman, finds that she has betrayed him, I fear that he is wont at times to 
degenerate into the wild barbarian ” once more. The vehemence of passion tears 
our thin veneer of culture and civilization to tatters, and the fierce innate desire of 
man to right his own WTongs with his own right hand triumphs over the tardy retri- 
bution offered him by the law courts. 

“ Wliat reck’d the chieftain if he stood 
On Highland heath or Iloly-Rood? 
lie rights such wrong where it is given, 

If it were in the court of heaven.” 

And when that woman, moreover, is his wife, there mingles in his mind some legal 
justification for putting her seducer to death. He has brooded over this to such an 
extent, that a brace of Derringer pistols have found their w^ay into one of the drawers 
of his writing-table, and a small box of cartridges nestles beside them. Still, before 
you shoot a man it is imperative to find out where he is. Montague Gore, as yet, is 
not only in ignorance of his foe’s whereabouts, but also of his very personality. He 
has shut himself up ever since Cissy left him, — accessible only on business, — and has 
as yet taken no steps to trace the whereabouts of the fugitives. 


Brooding on Vengeance. 


197 


It was not likely friends would intrude upon him under the circumstances. Honest 
John Paynter, it is true, has called, but only to be denied admittance ; while his wife, 
after her asseverations that memorable day in the Temple, naturally shrinks from an 
interview with the stricken man. Lizzie, indeed, is too distressed and bewildered by 
the event to think of talking about it to Montague Gore. She cannot understand it. 
She could have sworn that Cissy loved her husband dearly. Little does she suspect 
how that little piece of coquetry of hers guided the march of events. Did she but 
know it, Mrs. Paynter would have been both sincerely distressed and surprised. 
More passionless kiss, Lizzie could have vouched, had never been dropped on 
woman’s cheek; but, like our sins and the chickens, these illegitimate kisses are 
wont to come home to roost. 

It so happened that Mr. Fox Brine, having conceived a new and brilliant inspira- 
tion, had forsworn society and his usual haunts for some days, with a view to working 
it out. This, with him, meant looking up sundry books of reference, making a great 
many notes, and then appearing languidly once more before his chums, and announc- 
ing, like Mr. Winkle, “ for fear of taking anybody by surprise, that he was about to 
' begin.” His laughter-loving, literary associates always on these occasions remarked 
that he was looking ill. 

“ Yes, I’ve been in for a good deal of stiff work lately ; getting the scaffolding 
together, you know,” Mr. Brine -would rejoin, solemnly. 

Ah ! I see,” returned one of that irreverent fraternity, upon his reappearance this 
time ; “ had another miscarriage, poor fellow ! ” 

Fox Brine, though he felt somewhat angry, could not help laughing at the joke ; 
besides, he knew well, to lose your temper at a jest in Bohemia is like passing sentence 
of excommunication on yourself. You will be assuredly laughed clear out of that 
vagrant countiy. Still, in consequence of that addled incubation, this nesting of 
eggs never destined to be hatched, Mr. Brine had not even heard of Mrs. Gore’s 
elopement as yet. It was not so far town-talk ; the knowledge of it was confined only 
to Montague’s more immediate intimates. 

But when intelligence did reach Fox Brine’s ears, he posted off to sec his friend at 
once. It was getting high time that Gore should see some one to whom he could 
unburthen himself. When a man passes his days brooding on murder, he rapidly 
drifts into that morbid frame of mind in which his ideas commence to take practical 
shape concerning the achievement of it. Gore is, in fact, thinking of little else. 
He sits for hours with business papers spread out before him. He reads the same 
‘ paragraph over and over again, without the slightest comprehension of it. He dips 
his pen in the ink, bites the top of it vaguely ; but the paper remains still unstained 
before him. His opinion has been called for on more than one case of importance, 
but it cannot be obtained. He has been sent for to two or three consultations, but he, 
usually so clear, lucid, and logical, seems like a man in a dream, unable to grasp the 
facts placed before him, with nothing to say when the affair has been -well talked over 
by those joined with them in tlie suit. They shake their heads, these last, and 


198 


Tivo Kisses. 


prophesy that Gore must knock off work, or break down. Ilis domestic troubles have 
not as yet reached the cars of his confreres at the bar. 

Brine had heard it through John Paynter, who shook his head more sadly over it 
than was John Paynter’s wont about grievous tidings. 

“ Awfully cut up, I’m afraid, poor chap ! he won’t see me or any one,” he re- 
marked. 

“ He shall see me,” returned Brine ; “ but who is it ? That infernal blacldeg, I 
suppose ? ” 

“ I don’t know his name,” replied John Paynter, “ but it’s the fellow I’ve seen her 
walking with once or twice, I presume, — a well got-up man, between forty -five and 
fifty.” 

“ That’s he, — Major Claxby Jenkens. I, too, saw him with her a few weeks back, 
and saw him kiss her. I argued with myself for a day or two whether to tell Mon- 
tague or not; but the situation was so awkward, I thought I’d best not interfere.” 

“ Pity you didn’t, perhaps; still, I don’t know. As you say, it is awkward, very, 
acquiring such knowledge.” 

Brine looked a little comically at his companion. He didn’t know, it was true, a 
very great deal of Mrs. Paynter, but he had heard that she was a desperate flirt. It 
occurred to his whimsical brain that there might, perchance, have been an occasion 
on which somebody might have acquired similar knowledge concerning her. He 
little thought how true he had hit the mark, or who that somebody was. 

When Brine got back to the Temple, he lost no time in walking across to his 
friend’s roojns. In answer to his inquiry for Mr. Gore, the clerk hesitated. 

“ Yes,” he said, “ Mr. Gore was in, but had given strict orders that he was not to 
be disturbed ; he was not at home to any one. Still, sir,” continued the clerk, “ I 
think he might, perhaps, see you,” and then he hesitated. He, of course, knew 
Brine well. 

“ What is it ? ” inquired that gentleman, sharply. 

“ The fact is, sir, Mr. Gore doesn’t seem quite himself. He’s looking very ill, and 
we can’t get him to attend to business as he should, and as he used to do.” 

“ So I’ve heard ; all right, he’ll see me ; take in my card,” and, by way of prevent- 
ing all opportunity of refusal. Brine followed his card closely. 

Montague Gore was seated at his writing-table. As the door opened, he closed a 
drawer of it sharply, snatched up a pen, and then raised his head angrily. There 
was scant need of announcement, for Brine was in the room as the clerk gave his 
name, and could not help feeling shocked as he looked on his friend’s haggard face. 
The dark eyes gleamed with feverish light, and the livid circles under them told a 
story of mental suffering, or reckless dissipation. 

Brine knew well it was not the latter. 

“ Montie,” he said, “ I have come to have a talk with you.” 

You’ve heard all, I suppose,” replied Gore, in slow, measured tones, as the door 
closed behind the clerk, — “ how the woman I married ate my heart first, and then 


199 


Brooding on Vengeance. 

left me. Ah ! with whom ? — that’s what I -want to know. I’m not quite myself, Fox. 
I did think of sending for you. I’m not quite fit to manage this inquiiy by myself. 
You will do it for me. No scandal, mind, — quiet, yes, keep it veiy quiet. Just his 
name and where he is, that is all we want ; never mind her, though, of course, she’s 
with him ; but it is he we have to do with. You’ll have his name and address before 
two days are over. Eh ? ” 

“ I d'on’t suppose they will be difficult to trace. The detectives will, doubtless, 
soon ascertain where they have fled to. But, my dear Montie, what is it you propose 
to do ? ” 

Kill him ! ” replied Gore, in a thick, hoarse whisper. 

Brine could not repress a shiver ; if ever he had conceived deliberate murder hissed 
from a human being’s lips, he heard it now, — the fell rattle of the cobra before its 
spring. 

‘‘ You cannot, in these days, — duelling is a thing of the past, remember.” 

Pshaw ! who talked of duelling ? Who meets beasts of prey in a fair stand-up 
fight ? — we kill them where we can, how we can. Look,” he continued, rising, 
opening the drawer, and taking one of the Derringers from it, “ if, when he feels this 
barrel pressed against his temples, he does not blench, then I’ll at all events hold him 
a man, though a felon ; that like the wolf he knows how to die ; but my finger will 
not lalter ; never fear.” 

“ Montie, my dear Montie ! this is murder ! ” cried Brine, aghast. 

“ What if it is, sir ? Do you think I’d not rather have lain dead with a bullet 
through my brain than feel it throb as it does this minute ? Do you think that I 
would not welcome death sooner than endure the misery I do now ? I live but for 
one thing, henceforth, — vengeance. Do you suppose I intend to chance that on the 
lottery of a duel ? ” 

Before this tirade was over. Brine had become aware that Gore was scarce master 
of himself; that reason tottered on her throne; that, at least, his friend was pos- 
sessed of homicidal mania ; and that, but for the fortunate circumstance of his not 
knowing who it was that had wronged him, a terrible tragedy might have'been done 
ere this. 

Very evident, indeed, now, to Fox Brine, that Gore must be left no longer to 
himself, and it was with bitter hatred he thought of this woman, all worthless as he 
deemed her, that had supplanted the memory of his dead sister. 

It is singular, at times, how averse the relations of a man’s first wife are to his 
marrying again. They resent it fiercely, although with no valid reason to allege 
against his doing so. He took a daughter of their clan, and had no business ever to 
forget the honor the family did him wiien they received him into their bosom. That 
he should renew' the nuptial tic elsewhere they deem an affront, and are W'ont to be 
highly prophetic in boding no good will come of it. 

He w'ould have admitted it to no man living ; but there w'as a strong tinge of this 
feeling in the dislike that Brine had conceived for Cissy at their first meeting. In his 


200 


Two Kisses. 


inmost heart he disliked the woman who had induced Gore to forget his dead fiancee, 
ile, Fox, liad been much attached to her, and the tragic mode of her death had 
invested her m(?moiy with almost heroic attributes in his eyes. 

lie was but a boy of eighteen when the catastrophe took place, and it had made a 
terrible impression on his boyish mind. We recollect so vividly the trials that occur 
to us in those days. He could recall the fair face, blanched and drawn with pain, 
although its loveliness had not been impaired by the firc-demon ; the fearful ravages 
he had wu'ought had been confined to her body. He recollected Montague Gore 
bowed down with grief by that painful death-bed. Man of the world as he was, he 
could not but feel it a species of sacrilege that Gore should ever forget her who bade 
him so sweet and touching a farewell. 

But it is not given to most men to sorrow for their dead till their lives be run, 
and no one could accuse Gore of forgetting his dead love lightly. Ten years had 
passed before he thought of gaining a woman’s good grace again. Better he had 
never dreamed such a dream, think both he and Brine now, seeing what has come of 
this second venture. 

“ !Montie, old fellow,” said Brine, gently, at last, “you arc not quite yourself, and 
must allow me to act for you in this business. Of course, the first thing is to ascer- 
tain where they have gqne ; that done, we must consider what next to do.” 

“ It doesn’t require much consideration,” returned Gore, in those low, passionate 
tones, which arc to shrill, querulous exasperation as blue lurid, forked lightning to 
the gaudy blazonry that lights the sky in August. “ He must die.” 

“ That,” said Brine, “ must be as I shall determine. I have no fancy to see you 
expiate the murder of the accomplice of a worthless woman on the scallbld.” 

“ Who dares say she is worthless ? ” cried Gore, fiercely ; loyal in his love still, no 
one but himself should traduce Cissy in his hearing. “ She has fallen before the 
cunning wiles of some early acquaintance. Some scoundrel, perhaps, with a hold 
over her that we little dream. Think what a life she led in her old days. My God ! ” 
he continued, passionatel}', “ if she could have trusted in me ! ” 

“ Don’t deceive yourself in that Aishion,” replied Brine. “ I am afraid you will 
find that Mrs. Gore is a woman not w'ortli fighting about. Better trust to the more 
simple remedy oY the divorce court, and be free of her, believe me.” 

“ We will think about wdiat is to be done with her afterwards. Your first business, 
remember, is to bring me face to face with this man.” 

“ My first business,” thought Mr. Brine, rapidly, “ is to sec that you do not, at 
present, obtain the slightest clue to who he is.” 

“Very well,” rejoined Brine, “as soon as we have made that out, we will have 
another talk about it. Meanwhile, Montic, let me take charge of those pistols.” 

Gore gazed steadily at him for a moment. 

“You think I would use them against myself^” he replied, quietly, at last. 
“ Have no fear of that at present, Fox. I have a good deal to do before it will occur 
to me to die ])y my own hand.” 


201 


Ai Brompton-super-Mare. 

But, in spite of this calm assurance, his dark eyes glittered with, if not incipient 
madness, what might 'vvell pass as such, and Brine felt that there was no one in Lon- 
don less fitted to be trusted with loaded pistols than his friend at this moment. But it 
was useless to argue. The duplicity of madmen is proverbial, and Brine saw at once 
that possession of those pistols eould only be aeeomplished by stratagem. He knew 
he had a man verging on delirium to deal w'ith. Best to get him home just now, and 
see what a doctor could make of him. 

“Wants a pretty stiff opiate, I should think, to begin with, and a good deal of 
medical supervision to follow,” mused Fox. “ Come along home, old fellow ; I’m going 
to take my chanees of some dinner with you to-night.” 

“ Yes, all right; but you must not linger over the elaret, you know. You’ve heaps 
of people to see. We must know where they are to-morrow, or the next day, at 
latest,” and Montague drew on his gloves with feverish impatience. 

A clever physician, well-known to both -of them, dropped in as they sat over their 
wine, thanks to a note from Fox Brine, and, when Gore sought his pillow, he had 
swallowed a powerful narcotic, of which he little dreamed. 

“ Trembling on the verge of brain fever,” said the doctor, as he said good-night to 
Brine in the hall. “ Mind he’s carefully watched, and I’ll be round again the first 
thing to-morrow. The morphia may save it, but it’s just as likely to aggravate 
matters as not. Of course, if it fails to produce sleep, he’d better not have had it. It’s 
the card to play, but I’m not very sanguine of its being successful.” 

Brine threw himself on a sofa, but before the sun rose he was called to his fiend’s 
bedside. Small doubt about Montague Gore’s madness now. 

CHAPTER XXXVH. 

AT BROMPTON-SUPER-MARE. 

• 

Brompton-super-Mare was, after the manner of all watering-places, a little town 
wonderfully impressed with the idea of its own importance. It was a part of the creed 
of Brompton-super-Mare that you nowhere beheld so fine a sea, that no beach in 
England bore comparison with theirs. That they were fashionable and aristocratic it 
is needless to mention; no watering-place of the smallest pretensions -was ever 
otherwise. 

If cynical visitors hinted there seemed a good many strange people about, or that 
there appeared to be a good many bills of apartments to let up in its windows, 
Brompton-super-Mare replied contemptuously that it wasn’t the season. It did not 
signify what the time of year might be, they made the same answer. The inhabitants 
believed firmly that they were thronged with fashionables when that happy permd 
arrived. If the place was empty, or full of those who could be scarcely called of 


202 


Two Kisses. 


Bocicty’s then it was obvious it was not the season, which you were assured was 
just over or just about to commence. 

Brompton-super-jMarc, when it did find a titled visitor within its clutch, made the 
most of him. The Brompton-super-]N[arc “ Gazette ” served him up to breakfast with 
the prawns every morning ; “Arrival of llis Grace the Duke of Dashborough,” 
on iMonday; account of llis Grace’s family, on Tuesday. It did his seats or 
“ ancestral towers ” — rather fond of that phrase the “ Gazette ” — Avhen it got an oppor- 
tunity ; the next day some few episodes in his life followed, if with just a suspicion of 
scandal about them so much the better, and so things continued till the “ Gazette ” 
pronounced an oration on his departure, as is done over the departure for the next 
world of a celebrity in Paris. Of course the place had its promenade by the sea, 
where people passed and repassed, till they entertained considerable doubts as to 
whether they did not know each other intimately ; where shy people made feeble but 
elaborate parade of really being off on business of importance, as if it was possible to 
have business of importance at Broinpton-super-Mare. 

The place had two vocations, — to idle and to ascertain the affairs of its neighbors ; 
so important was the latter of these avocations, that the first had at times to give way 
to it, and Brompton-supcr-Marc worked harder than would be credited. 

The appearance of a stranger, as may be supposed, attracted immediate attention ; 
the residents, of course, all knew each other by sight. A strange face, if in the least 
attractive, became at once a matter of curiosity, and its OAvner had not to take many 
turns on the promenade before Brompton-super-Mare Avas diligently seeking his or 
her name. A stay of a fcAV days, and it became imperative that the inhabitants shoukl 
knoAV the previous history of the new-comer as far as j)ossible. It may easily be 
imagined that the appearance of so striking a ilgurc as Cissy Gore set Brompton- 
super-Mare all agog. A handsome Avoman, richly dressed, and utterly unattended, — 
here, indeed, AA’as food for speculation. Who Avas she ? 

It did not take the little place long to ari’ive at her name, and the fact that she had 
taken lodgings for a month or so in Denbigh Terrace ; but further there Avas nothing 
to be learned concerning her. She lived very quietly, and Avas rather given to keep 
her A'eil doAvn Avhen out Avalking. Cissy might have i*cmaincd a mystery to Bromp- 
ton-super-Mare for a considerable time but for one thing, — she had communicated 
her address to her father, and in an ill-advised moment the major determined to run 
doAvn and see her. 

A fcAV mornings more, and the watering-place Avas astonished to find ISIrs. Gore 
continually promenading Avith a strange gentleman, — not her husband, Avas speedily 
ascertained, for he did not live Avith her, and Avas staying, indeed, at the Boyal 
Hotel. Bi’ompton-super-]Mare felt there Avas something Avrong, and it behoved them 
to ascertain the truth of it. 

The hot Aveather and the dead season in London scatter the habitues of the (dubs in 
alb directions. To many of these the loss of their accustomed lounge is a sore depri- 
vation. They do not shoot ; they don’t care about the Bhine or Switzerland, still they 


At Brompton-super-Mare. 


203 


must go somewhere ; they hate the country, even if they are lucky enough to have 
free quarters awaiting them. They are essentially club-mcn. Banished by painting, 
cleaning, or it may be only custom, from their accustomed haunts, such usually seek 
the nearest approach to their elysium. The watering-place presents this, and also 
usually extends the attraction of a small club, not difficult to join temporarily for a 
man accredited from any one of the London establishments. Colonel Prawn had 
selected Brompton-super-Mare in wdiich to pass his six weeks of exile. He, of course, 
got himself elected to the club there as speedily as possible, and became at once 
au courant with all the gossip of the place. 

We have heard this gentleman before express opinions strongly unfavorable to the 
major. He was little likely to hold his tongue now. He knew certainly nothing very 
tangible about Claxby Jenkens, though there were ugly rumors afloat concerning 
^ him in the London world, with regard to play-affairs and other over-sharp trans- 
actions, — quite pegs enough for the colonel to hang his innuendoes upon. 

He detested the major, and whispered quite enough concerning him to make 
Brompton-super-Mare regard him as possessed of a very tainted reputation indeed, 
albeit he had always just contrived to escape being kicked out of society altogether. 

To Colonel Prawn the mystery of Mrsl Gore was intensely exciting, and he penned 
letters to all the scandal-mongers of his acquaintance concerning her. 

“ Doosid handsome woman, by Jove ! What could have made her take up with 
such an old reprobate as Jenkens ? 

The colonel was at least half-a-dozen years older than the subject of his abuse, and 
by no means as well preserved, looking his age every day, which the major certainly 
did not. But we never do see the encroachments of the fatal scythe-bearer on 
ourselves, keenly as we note them on our contemporaries. 

If Gore was not a man of mark as yet, he was at all events in very good practice, 
and looked upon as likely to become so in his profession before many years were over. 
Ilis sudden disppearance from work just before the long vacation, at a time when 
professional men find it all but impossible to get through their engagements, attracted 
attention. Then it oozed out that he was very ill. 

Two or three intimate friends not only called, but asked if it-was possible to sec 
Mrs. Gore for a few minutes. The}^ were informed thas she was not there, and that 
the master of the house was down with brain fever. Strange that a Avife should be 
absent from her husband’s bedside at such a time ! There Avere too many conversant 
wdth the real state of the case for the affair to remain a secret long, and, ere many 
days Averc over, it Avas Avhispered about that Mrs Gore had fled from her husband’s 
roof; but Avith Avhom Avas still a question. In due course this intelligence reached 
the ears of one of Colonel PraAvn’s correspondents, AAdio immediately imparted it to 
that gallant officer. 

Wheugh ! ” ejaculated the colonel, as he perused his letter. A handsome AA’oman 
like that, and actually bolted Avith old Jenkens! Well, she might have done better, 
one Avould think; ’’and that improper old Avarrior pulled up his shirt-collar, Avinked 


204 


Two Kisses. 


at himself in the glass with a bloodshot eye, and locked altogether a very fit model 
for Silenus. 

Here was a dainty bonbon to take down to the club. For one day at least, Colonel 
Prawn meant to be the lion of that establishment. Although his correspondent’s 
information was of the briefest, and he owned he had no notion of who was the part- 
ner of 2>Irs. Gore’s flight, yet the colonel felt he knew ah the particulars, and could 
supply the smallest details from the stores of his imagination. 

He certainly had fair grounds for suspicion, but it might have struck him as sin- 
gular that having eloped together they should be living apart. Little likely, though, 
that the colonel, with such a tit-bit of scandal to communicate, should sift the truth 
of it very closely. 

Before the sun went down, Brompton-super-Marc was aw’^are that the purity of its 
promenade was sullied by the presence of a runaway wife and her paramour ; Bromp- 
ton-super-Mare felt, truth to tell, a little relieved. It had been so convinced that there 
was something wrong about that Mrs. Gore, it was quite comforting to know at last 
what it was, though it couldn’t well be worse. 

As old Mrs. Mufliington remarked to her special crony. Miss Vilejuice : — 

“ I always said, my dear, that there was more brazenry than beauty about that 
’svoman.” 

Cissy, with her frank, free carriage to be accused of brazenry ! Cissy, with her 
pride so cruelly wounded by what she deems the discovery of her husband’s perfidy ! 
Cissy, who has awoke to her passionate love for her husband only to sec how she has 
thrown her heart away ! AVhatwill she say when this shall come to her ears ? — when 
she shall find that the world holds her a degraded, worthless woman, false to the vows 
she took upon herself but a few months back ? Cissy has got a lesson to learn, to wit, 
that it takes a marvellous short time for a woman to lose a reputation. 

Cissy was extremely miserable, she yearned so for tidings of that husband she had 
deserted. She knew now how very dear he was to her, and though he had wronged 
her grievously, still she could not but love him. Her father, too, had somewhat stag- 
gered Cissy in her justification of the line of conduct she had thought proper to 
pursue. 

The major — after hearing as much of her story as she thought fit to disclose, she 
could not bring herself to tell him the exact grounds of her jealousy — shook his head, 
and hoped she had not been hasty. 

“ It would have been better, I think. Cissy, to have had some talk with your hus- 
band first.” 

“ Impossible !” she replied ; “he could not deny his infidelity; to discuss such a 
sul)jcct could only 1)C painful to both of us. I could have forgiven him all, if he had 
not taught me to love him,” she concluded, in a low murmur. 

Fox Brine had taken complete charge of his friend and his aflairs, and no sooner 
had he procured satisfactory nurses, and seen that all the appliances of the sick-room 
were in thorough working order, than he determined that the next thing was to ascer- 


Ai Brompton-stiper-Mare , 


205 


tain what had become of Mrs. Gore. Nothing could be easier ; so little mysteiy had 
Cissy made of her elopement that she had even taken her maid with her ; the maid 
had since written to her fellow-seiwants, and therefore it was known amongst the 
household that their mistress was at Brompton-super-Mare. Much as he mistrusted 
Cissy, still Brine did feel that this sounded hopeful. “ It may be only some misun- 
derstanding, after all,” he muttered; “of course* she’s been foolish, but perhaps not 
criminal. Confound it ! a woman don’t elope so publicly as she seems to have done. 
As for poor, dear Montie, the doctors say the fever must run its course ; he’s likely to 
be some days yet before he comes to himself. I wonder Avhether Mrs. Gore knows 
how ill he is. Hang me if I don’t run down to Brompton-super-Mare, and, subject to 
circumstances, tell her.” 

Having come to this decision. Brine lost no time in caiTying it out. Brompton- 
super-Mare was barely two hours from London ; a little more than three and Brine was 
safely deposited thereat. Mrs. Gore’s address was easily attainable, and Fox Brine 
was speedily on his way to Denbigh Terrace. Mrs. Gore was out, but would be in to 
luncheon. Would the gentleman leave his card ? No ; but he w*ould call again. 

To kill time. Brine turned on to the promenade, and, before he reached its end, 
encountered the lady he had come to see, escorted by Claxby Jenkens. 

Cissy bowed as they passed, and felt her cheeks tingle, as she marked the stiff, curt 
recognition with which Brine returned her salute. She saw now, how her husband’s 
friends regarded her conduct, clearly. She was prepared for it. She knew too well 
that in cases of separation each side has its own partisans. She was too proud also to 
make her story public in her own justification, and therefore quite resigned to have 
society’s verdict registered against her. 

As for Fox Brine, with a stifled implication, he made the best of his way back to 
town, believing the worst possible things concerning Mrs. Gore and her proceedings. 

It so happened the major followed his example the next day ; his numerous schemes 
requiring the master-hand to keep them going. 

Forty -eight hours after, Mrs. Gore received the following note : — 

“ 6 Charles street, 

“ Wednesday. 

“ Dear Cissy, — Your husband is veiy seriously ill, and has been for about a week. 
Is your quarrel such that it forbids you to go to him now ? Mind, he is in danger ; I 
know for certain. 

“ Ever your affectionate father, 

“ Claxby Jenkens.” 

“ Montague ill ! Montague in danger and I here ! God forgive me ! ” cried Cissy, 
passionately, as the tears welled into her eyes. “ Justine, I am going to town by the 
next train. You will wait here till I write you word what to do.” 


206 


Two Kisses. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

COLEMAN’S. 

Captain Detfield, the last few w'eeks, has been going through all the last agonies 
that prelude the final crash. Legal intimation has been given him several times that, 
unless he pays divers sums forthwith, further proceedings will be immediately taken 
against him. Further proceedings have been taken, which seem to lead to yet further 
operations to his detriment. He is summoned, threatened, cited, and finally informed 
that, in default of his putting in an appearance, judgment for execution and costs has 
been given against him for £947 17s. 6t7., at the suit of Simon Simmonds ; and that 
if the aforesaid sum is not paid within eight days he will be committed to prison for 
contempt of court. 

“ As my raising a thousand pounds is about as practicable as flying, I am afraid I 
shall have to incur the penalty,” mused Charlie. “ Legal fiction, I presume, or else I 
don’t sec the use of a court of law ordering you to do what it is clearly manifest you 
are incapable of doing. That villain Simmonds holds another bill, too, which, though 
it originally represented £300, will, I presume, cost six before he Avould part with it. 
I wonder what would put me square ; take about five thousand, I suppose. Well, I’ve 
been a fool, and must pay for it. Comes hard, too, just now. Poor Bessie, — I had no 
business to speak to her.” 

Detfield understands thoroughly that a few days more and he is tolerable certain to 
be arrested. He has procured leave ; and yet, instead of placing his affairs in tlic 
hands of a man of business, making the necessary arrangements for leaving his regi- 
ment, and then betaking himself to the Continent, or some other obscurity, till such 
time as his friends can come to some sort of terms with his creditors, he still hangs on 
in London. 

He cannot tear himself away from Bessie Stanbury. He argues he has still four 
more days left; and so he continues to pass all his afternoons at Roscncath House. 
The ladies there have unanimously elevated him to the rank of a martyr ; and not 
only is this graceless spendthrift petted by his fiancee, but even Miss Matilda thinks it 
nccessaiy to make much of him. 

Very angry is Miss Matilda Avith Roxby for refusing his consent to her niece’s 
marriage; that he supported his decision by irrefutable arguments only made that 
lady still more wrathful. 

“ As if a Avoinan’s instinct Avasn’t Avorth more than a man’s reasoning,” quoth Miss 
Matilda. “ But 1 have not quite done Avith Mr. Roxby yet ; ” and here the good lady 
Avould shake her head, and look so A'cry mysterious, that Aunt Clem and Bessie 
entertained shadoA\y hopes that Miss Matilda had some subtle design in the back- 
ground, destined to cover the inflexible Roxby Avith confusion. 


Coleman's. 


207 


As may be supposed Miss Matilda had sought an explanation concerning the 
accusation Bessie had hurled at Boxby in that memorable interview of a Aveek ago ; 
and the girl had told her aunt frankly what had taken place between that gentleman 
and Charlie : how that his consent might have been easily purchased had Charlie 
been as great a scoundrel as himself; how the two had quarrelled over the rascally 
proposition ; and how Charlie had told Mr. Boxby, in the plainest possible language, 
what he thought of him. 

Miss Matilda’s amazement knew no bounds ; that the decorous, respectal)le Boxby 
should turn out such an unscrupulous villain ; that his specious arguments should be 
all a sham, and that his ward’s hand was simply for sale as far as he was concorned, 
shocked Miss Matilda greatly. She wrote Mr. Boxby a most severe letter on the 
subject, in which she pronounced him unworthy of the trust reposed in him. 

Mr. Boxby took no manner of notice of this epistle. Henceforth, Miss Matilda, as 
before said, gave vent to mysterious hints about “ not being quite done with Mr. 
Boxb}".” On two points the ladies were unanimous : that Boxby was a monster, and 
that Charlie Dctfield had behaved most nobly. 

Boor Charlie ! — he had only acted according to his training, and behaved like a 
gentleman ; but how the women who love us can glorify our most simple actions. 

The blow so long expected descends at last. Charlie Detfield has not got fifty 
yards from his rooms one morning, when he feels a hand upon his shoulder. Turn- 
ing sharply to confront his assailant, he find himself face to face with a shiny -hatted, 
slovenly-dresscd man, who carries his calling impressed legibly on his countenance. 
No necessity for his grutf “ Prisoner, captaing,” to tell Detfield what he is. He 
grimly exhibits a strip of parchment, and then says, sentcntiously : — 

“ Cab, of course, captaing ? ” 

Detfield nods, and his taciturn captor hails a passing four-wheeler, in which they 
place themselves. 

“ ’Spose you’ll go to Coleman’s ? — they mostly does,” remarked the officer, in an 
abstracted manner, as if wearied of speculating -svherc they went to, after his villain 
hand had once been laid upon them. 

-‘What Coleman’s might be, Dctfield did not altogether understand; but he con- 
ceived it were as well to leave his destination to his captor for the present. 

The cab, meanwhile, rumbled along slowly eastwards, and, after a drive of some- 
thing over half an hour, stopped in a narrow, dingy street, somewhere off Holborn. 
Here the officer got out, rang at a low door-way, and called upon Detfield to follow 
^him. Charlie eyed the house with unmitigated disgust: a tall, mildewed-looking 
building that had not been touched by the painter for very many years ; the windows, 
t:5o, appojircd to be equally innocent of soap and water fora similar period; one 
peculiarity about them was, they were all barred. But here the opening of the door 
cut short further criticism on the exterior of Coleman’s, and Charlie followed his guide 
up a narrow staircase, hearing the ominous clang of the massiye lock behind him as 
he did so. 


208 


Two Kisses. 


Arriyed at the first floor, his guide threw open the door of a good-sized, but dingy 
sitting-room, and, muttering something to the effect that Coleman would be there 
directly, withdrew. 

Thus left to himself, Charlie began to take stock of the apartment. A dingy 
picture of the bay of Naples hung over the fireplace, and four or five old coaching 
prints, yellow with age, and stained with smoke and dirt, decorated the walls. In 
the centre of the room was an infirm loo-table, upon which lay a newspaper and two 
or three dog’s-eared volumes. On either side of the fireplace was an arm-chair, 
covered with torn and soiled Utrecht velvet, the original color of which it was very 
hard now to determine. Some half-dozen chairs of various patterns and in varying 
stages of decay were placed primly against the walls. 

A bloated, dropsical sideboard, whose polish was considerably impaired by its 
dissipated life, and a huge sofa, originally, it may be presumed, part of the same suite 
as the arm-chairs, but looking, if possible, still more dirty and dilapidated, consti- 
tuted the remainder of the furniture. Anything more deprcssingly dingy and mouldy 
than this apartment it was scarce possible to conceive. Yet this was known as.“ the 
saloon,” in Coleman’s, and the privilege of using it was rated at about the price you 
would pay for a good sitting-room at the Grosvenor or Langham. 

By this time Charlie had discovered he was not alone. Stretched on the sofa was a 
plump, clean-shaved little man, who was regarding him out of a pair of quick, bead}', 
black eyes, with no little curiosity. 

'“Servant, sir!” exclaimed the little man at last, bringing himself into a sitting 
position. “ Our friend Coleman’s is not exactly the sort of house to bid a gentleman 
welcome to ; our friend Coleman being, between ourselves, about as filthy and 
extortionate a beast as ever I came across. Lord 1 to play the game of Tommy Dodd 
to perfection, you should have your fellow-creatures under lock and key. No com- 
petition. You sells ’em an imitation of what they want at your own price. If Cole- 
man aint made his fortune, then Coleman gambles, — that’s Avhat’s the matter.” 

Although Charlie was by no means in the best of spirits, he could not resist smiling 
at the little man’s pettish outbreak against his janitor. 

“ Have you been here long ? ” ho inquired courteously. 

“ About a week. I am here because I won’t be put upon. Here have I been deal- 
ing with old Chowner, of Birmingham, for fancy goods, the last three years, and 
blest if he didn’t refuse me a little time, though I told him I’d had a bad season. 
What do you think of that, young man ? ” inquired the stout little gentleman, 
sharply. 

“Well,” replied Charlie, who had a vague idea that a man who refuses time 
regarding the payment of a debt must be in the wrong, “it sounds hard, — yes, 
ticvilish hard ! ” 

“ Of course it was,” continued the little man, excitedly ; “ it was disgraceful 1 ‘ If 

you don’t pay I’ll sell you up, sure as my name’s Chowner,’ says he. ‘ Only be selling 
your own property,’ says I, ‘ and it won’t fetch half as much as if I do it.’ Well, we 


Coleman's. 


209 


both stuck to our words. I didn’t pay, he sold me up, and here I am for the balance 
and costs.” 

Here their conversation was interimpted by the appearance of the proprietor of the 
den. Mr. Coleman was not a prepossessing* gentleman in appearance by any manner 
of means. Ilis physiognomy was unmistakably Jewish. His attire, like his furni- 
ture, was tawdiy and somewhat stained. He was great in the matter of velvet collar 
and waistcoat, and wore a diamond ring or two on his dirty fingers ; a very shiny 
hat, very much curled in the brim, gave a finish to his attirC. Coleman’s principle 
■was very simple. As long as his lodgers had money, it was, of course, his interest to 
detain them at his house as long as possible. Their money gone, Coleman felt he 
could not be rid of them too quickly. 

But he comes forward with an obsequious smile to confer with Detficld, and speedily 
arranges to let him what Mr. Coleman designates as “ a bedroom fit for a lord, s’help 
me,” and the use of the saloon for a sum that would have caused astonishment at a 
AVest End hotel. 

“^ow, then, capting, I dessay you’d like to send for your traps. AVe’ve a trust- 
worthy messenger on the premises. Just a line, perhaps, to your solicitor, — it’s the 
usual thing. Blesh you, you’ll find yourself as right as nincpencc to-morrow. Any- 
thing we can do for you, Mr. Turbottle, this evening ? ” 

Yes, Coleman, you can. I’ll trouble you to select a considerable younger chicken 
for my dinner than I had last night. I should think you brought that bird with you 
when you first came here.” 

“ Ah ! I can’t think, s’help me, how that happened. So particular as Mrs. Coleman 
is, too. You’ll, of course, have a bit of dinner, capting. I’ll go and see about it; ” 
and so saying, Mr. Coleman bowed himself out of the room. 

Detfield sat down and wrote a letter. It was not to a solicitor ; he had accom- 
plished his entanglements all unaided of that profession, and it did not occur to him 
that a lawyer might be useful in putting his liabilities at all events fairly before them, 
lie sought advice from his old counsellor. He wrote to Fox Brine to advei’tise him 
that the crash had come at last, and asked him to come and see him. 

Mr. Brine has’his hands pretty full just now. He has established himself in Park 
Crescent, and constituted himself head-nurse at Montague Gore’s bedside. Much 
too wise is Mr. Brine not to have other and more efiicient help in that respect. He 
can depend on his own untiring vigilance, but is aware that, as a nurse, he is infinitely 
clumsy. 

He has two skilled professionals, who relieve each other at intciwals, and over these 
Mr. Brine exercises ceaseless supervision, gliding noiselessly into the room at all 
hours of the day and night ; for, despite the fact that these two women have been 
scut with highest recommendations from a leading I^ondon hospital, Mr. Brine can- 
not divest himself of the idea that all nurses have a dash of Sairy Gamp in their 
composition, which it behoves him ever to be on the lookout for. However, as he 
kept this theory carefully locked in his own bosom, and always found the nurses alert 


210 


Tzvo Kisses, 


ami watchful, no harm came of it; but those skilled, patient watchers would have 
been very augry had they suspected the distrust with which they were regarded. 

Still does the fever-stricken man toss to and fro on his pillow, and pour forth inco- 
herent babble, in which his wife, his business, and his boyish days are strangely 
mingled. 

Eight days has he lain in this state, and the doctors look very grave now. It has 
come to this with their patient ; if he gets no sleep within the next two or three days, 
the fever willhvear him out. Continually do the nurses force stimulants beneath the 
white, unconscious lips, feeding the low-burning fires of life with such fuel as they 
can. But Montague Gore’s weakness is now something pitiable to witness. Brine, 
perhaps, alone of the watchers round the sick man’s couch is still sanguine of lus 
recovery. 

As Brine with anxious face comes out of his friend’s chamber in company with the 
doctor, the butler puts a note into his hands, marked “ Immediate,” and which has 
been forwarded from the Temple. It was from Detlield. 

“Unlucky, by Jove !” muttered Brine, as he read it. “As if I hadn’t trouble 
enough in hand here. Well, I must go and see him; but what I can dolor poor 
Charlie I haven’t the faintest conception, beyond telling him to keep his pecker up.” 

CILiPTER XXXIX. 

BRINE AND TUKBOTTLE MEET AGAIN. 

Mr. Brine was a man of action. Intimating to the household that he should be 
back in a couple of hours, he sallied forth, hailed a passing hansom, and ordered the 
man to drive him to Cursitor street, best pace. 

“All right, sir,” replied the man, touching his hat, with a grin; “but you’re the 
fust gemman ever gave me such orders. It’s generally coming away gents are in 
such a confounded hurry.” 

“ Go ahead, and don’t talk,” responded Mr. Brine, tersely. 

The cabman accordingly did go ahead, relieving himself for having been snubbed 
by disregard for human life at the crossings most edifying to witness. However, 
thanks to their own activity, none of her majesty’s lieges were crushed beneath tha 
wheels of this modern Juggernaut, and in a very short time he pulled up at Cole- 
man’s evil-looking portal with a jerk. It was a sinister door that, — a low, beetle- 
browed doorway ; a sneaking-looking doorway. It looked as if cognizant of 
criminal practices. Brine could not help thinking as he rang the bell that the place 
savored of “ ditliculties.” He is ushered into the saloon by a shock-headed myrmi- 
don, who, after glancing vaguely round, intimates that he will let Captain Detlield 
know he is here. 

Only one gentleman present, and he, seated near the window, is apparently engaged 


Brine and Tiirbottle Meet Again. 


211 


in the perusal of the clay’s paper. Mr. Brine casts a keen glance in his direction, 
starts, looks again earnestly, and then exclaims : — 

“ Mr. Turbottle, by the immortals ! ” 

“ Eh ! no, what is it ? no, it can’t be ! ” exclaims the little man, starting to his feet. 
“Yes, it is, the noble gladiator.” 

“Just so,” replied Brine; “and soriy to come across you in such disagreeable 
quarters.” 

“ Oh, pooh ! don’t you mind me. I could go out to-morrow if I chose ; I’m here on 
principle. I w'on’t be put upon by old Chowner ! no, nor any other man.” 

Brine looked inquiringly, and Mr. Turbottle proceeded to relate his grievances in re 
Chowner at length. In conclusion, it appeared that he derived immense gratification 
from the fact that Chowner had only recovered about half of his debt by the sale; 
that as the goods had been surrendered, he, Mr. Turbottle, was held acquitted of the 
whole, and was now simply undergoing incarceration on account of the costs, which 
he obstinately refused to pay. 

“ And now, Mr. Turbottle, to return to our conversation at Nottingham.” 

“ Certainly, sir, certainly,” replied the little man, with a merry twinkle in his eye. 
“ I have often thought of your last remark : ‘ A remarkable pleasant liquor, Turbot- 
tle ; yes, very much so, and calculated to promote pleasant dreams, and refreshing 
slumbers ; taken temperately, Turbottle, taken temperately. But shun excess ; excess 
terminates in fever, crime, and remorse. Beware of excess, Turbottle, I’m sony to 
observe a tendency that way in you ; a disposition to fill your glass twice to your 
companion’s once. Curb such unholy appetites, Turbottle, and beware of excess.’ ” 

“ Confound you, stop your accursed reminiscences ! ” exclaimed Brine, laughing, 
when he was at length able to get a w^ord in, for the little man had rattled out his 
speech with such volubility and gesticulation that for a few seconds Brine was 
positively speechless. 

“ That were your last observation, sure as I’m sitting here,” replied Mr. Turbottle, 
demurely. 

“ Bah ! I don’t want to know what nonsense I talked after that confounded gin- 
punch got into my head. Will you tell me what you know about Mark Ilemsworth, 
deceased ? ” 

“I never said I knew anything about him,” replied Mr. Turbottle, eying his 
interlocutor, steadily. “ It’s news to me that he is dead.” 

“ Then you do know something of him ? ” 

“Yes ; I know now he’s dead,” returned the little man, with a provoking grin. 

“You need not jest on the subject,” said Brine, sharply. “ There’s^ property 
involved in this inquiry, and I consider you quite worth putting in the witness-box.” 

The jocularity died out of Mr. Turbottle’s countenance, and it w’as somewhat sulkily 
he retorted : — 

“ This is a nice sort of way to turn round on a gemman you’ve spent a pleasant 
evening with. There’s one comfort, when you’ve had me in the witness-box you’ll 


212 


Tivo Kisses, 


be satisfied there u.iit much to be got out of me. AVith which somewhat equivocal 
remark Mr. Turbottle resumed his paper with much ostentation. 

Brine hesitated as to what lino he should take next. Quite evident that the threat 
of the witness-box had simply raised Mr. Tiirbottlc’s bristles ; not probable that he 
Avould be induced to speak now'. 

“ What a fool I was to lose my temper ! ” he muttered ; as if I was likely to get at 
what I wanted, exeept through patience and fair speaking.” 

“AVell,”he continued aloud, “1 don’t know wdiat your motive maybe for with- 
holding the information you possess, but it’s devilish hard no one will help poor Mrs. 
liemsworth to come to her owm.” 

Mr. Turbottle turned his head sharply at Brine’s last words. 

“ AYhat’s that he said } Do you mean that Mark llemsworth’s widow is in trouble 
about getting her own ? ” 

“ Of course I do. Didn’t I spend the whole night at Nottingham drumming it into 
your head } — only I suppose the punch muddled your ideas, and you couldn’t take it 
in.” 

Mr. Turbottle’s visage relaxed, he closed his right eye, laid his forefinger to the 
side of his nose, and gave vent to a short, sharp cachinnation. 

But at this moment Detfield entered the room, and Brine, of course, turned to 
greet him. 

“ AVell, Charlie,” he said, “ I’m awful sorry, old fellow^, and when I’ve said that, I 
don’t know w'hat else to say.” 

“ AYe never made mueh of my difficulties as often as we discussed them. Fox, did 
W'e } ” replied Detfield, with a smile. “ I don’t think talking over them will be much use 
now. I sent for you, because I have a commission I w'ant you to do for me in the first 
place, and one or tw'O things I want you to consult you about besides. First, here is a 
queer note I got this morning from Claxby Jenkens. I w'ent to have a talk with him 
after my row wfitli Roxby, as I told you. lie politely expressed his opinion that I w’as 
a fool ; but in the end told me if ever he could do me a turn, in re Boxby, he would ; 
adding, ‘ Mind, I don’t play lioxby till I’ve a strong hand.’ Head it ; ” — 

“ 6 Charles street, 

“August loth. 

Dear Detfield, — You’ll, no doubt, think it very strange, but I am going to play 
Roxby — odder still, very much to your interests. I’m Avorth backing, as I told you 
I should be if ever this event came off. I hold a trump or tw'o he has little idea of. 
The result concerns you so nearly, that you Avil) know speedily Avhether I win or no. 
Meanwhile, adieu. 

“ Yours sineerely, 

“ Claxby Jenkens.” 

“ AYhy, the scoundrel Avas doAvn at Brompton-super-Mare not tAVO days ago ! ” cx- 
claime^l Brine. “ Charlie, I Avouldn’t pin much faith upon this man. A bigger villain 


Brine and Tnrbottle Meet Again. 


213 


doesn’t walk than Claxby Jenkcns,” and here Brine stopped abruptly, as he remem- 
bered that, though no doubt it was whispered aliroad that Mrs. Gore had left her 
husband, yet, so far, no name had been coupled with hers as reason for her doing 
so. 

She was held to have separated, not eloped, from her husband, save by Montague 
Gore himself. Brine, and the good people of Brompton-super-Mare ; indebted these 
last for their belief to that scrofulous-minded old warrior. Colonel Prawn. 

Brine had raised his voice .as he finished his speech, his indignation against the 
major carrying him away for the moment. Now he was aware that not only Detfield 
was looking at him with some curiosity, but that Mr. Turbottlc had suddenly w’heeled 
his chair round, and was staring at him with the utmost amazement. 

“Bah! Charlie,” he continued, “1 said more than I should have done. Only, I 
wouldn’t put much faith in the major, if I was you ; he’s a bad lot.” 

“ All the better fitted to t.ackle Boxby,” replied the guardsman. “ I can’t fancy an 
honest fellow having much chance. It’s odd, — I dare say foolish ; but I can’t help 
thinking the major will do me a good turn, though for the life of me I can’t guess 
how. There, never mind ; we’ll say no more about it. The next thing, Fox, is, you 
must find me a Lawyer.” 

“ All right, and mind you make a clean breast of it with him. They c.an’t keep you 
boxed up very long, you know, ^yhat would pull through, Charlie ? ” 

“ I don’t know exactly, — between five and six thousand, I suppose.” 

“ Weil, you and your solicitor had better give your minds to ascertaining that sura 
exactly. Now, is there .anything else ? Because poor jNlontic Gore’s down with brain 
fever, and I don’t like to be long away from him. It’s a c.ase of touch and go.” 

“Yes, there is one thing more,” replied Detfield, in rather a hesitating manner; 
“ and busy as you are. Fox, you must spare me an hour for this. I want you to 
deliver this note with your own hands. Explain to Bessie that I am not in a dungeon, 
and that I shall be released in a few days ; of course, I’ve said all that, but she’ll be 
more reconciled if she hears it also from you who’ve seen me. Not a pleasant place 
to date one’s love-letters from. Not a pleas.ant subject to have to write about to the 
girl one loves,” added Charlie, bitterly. 

“No,” replied Brine, gently, “and it’s not exactly a pleasant commission 3'ou’ve 
given me ; but I’ll do the best I can with it. Now, good-by,” and the friends clasped 
hands. “ Good-b\^, Mr. Turbottle.” 

“ One moment, guv’nor, one moment. Y^ou said Mrs. Hemsworth was in trouble to 
come at her own, — that’s gospel truth, eh ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly it is.” 

“ And you said Claxby Jenkens was the biggest villain ever walked; th.at’s a fact, 
too, aint it ? ” 

“ Most decidedly", to the best of my knoAvledge and belief.” 

“ You mean it eveiy bit; and 3'ou’vc something to go on, eh ? ” 

“ I mean it thoroughly, and have veiy good reasons for so doing.” 


214 


Two Kisses. 


Very good. I suppose you’d come here again if you thought I’d anything to 
tell you ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

All right. I must think out things a bit. He knows where you live, I suppose ? ” 
said Mr. Turbottle, jerking his thumb in the direction of Dctlicld. “ Curious I can’t 
recollect your telling me all that at Nottingham, aint it ? ” and Mr. Turbottle winked 
knowingly. “ llemarkably pleasant liquor is cold punch, — taken temperately, mind, 
taken temperately. Good-by, sir,” and here Mr. Turbottle chuckled till he positively 
turned purple. Ere he recovered. Fox Brine was gone. 

“ Well,” said that gentleman, as he whirled up Farringdon street in a hansom, “ if 
I’m not collecting material for a play or novel just now, it can’t be done by observa- 
tion. Act I., The Sponging-house ; Act II., The Boudoir; arrival of male confidant. 
The heroine ought to be dressed like Tilburina, in white satin. I hope she’ll have her 
hair down ; and of course she ought to faint. Bather she didn’t, though ; it’s all very 
well on the stage, but in real life I never saw the man yet whom it didn’t frighten. 
Bosencath House, — heye we are.” Mr. Brine jumped out, knocked, and sent in 
his card. 

Of course his name was v/cll-known to Bessie. She had heard Charlie speak of 
him often, and she gave instant directions to show him up. The girl divined at once 
that he brouglit her evil tidings. 

Mr. Brine Avas a little taken aback as he entered the room. Very little indeed of 
Tilburina was there in the slight, dark-eyed girl, draped in simple muslin, her rich 
brown tresses braided in a simple knot, who, with pale checks aiul rather compressed 
lips, advanced to meet him Avith outstretched hand. 

“ You bring me bad ucavs, I knoAV, Mr. Brine ; but Charlie is Avcll ? ” and the broAvn 
eyes looked a little anxiously up at her visitor. 

“ Perfectly ; I bring you a note from him. It Avas only that he thought you might 
like to put a question or tAvo to a friend Avho has seen him in his captivity that caused 
me to be the bearer.” 

“ It’s very kind of you,” replied Bessie, as she broke open her lover’s note. “ Pray 
sit doAvn.” 

At this instant Miss Matilda entered the room, and of course Brine had to be 
presented. 

“ Well, sir,” commenced that lady, “ you, of course, bring evil tidings of Captain 
Dctfield. Me arc (piite prepared; ever since Ave adopted a scapegrace into the family 
Ave have expected disastrous nCAVS of him by every post and every visitor.” 

“ Aunt ! ” exclaimed Bessie. 

“ Pooh ! you chit ! of course avc have. Didn’t he tell us that he expected Avhat he deli- 
cately termed trouble every day of his eventful life ? I suppose, IMr. Brine, it’s come ? ” 

Fox bowed. 

“Well, I have no doubt you Avill think me a very foolish old Avoman, Mr.JIrinc; 
but, you see, I’ve somehow got fond of the child there, and I don’t Avant the sunshine 


Brine and Tnrbottle Meet Again. 


215 


to die out of her face ; and then I don’t know how it is, but I have got to like 
Charlie Detfield for himself. I suppose it’s because he’s the greatest ne’er-do-well I 
ever came across.’’ 

By this time Bessie had stole across to her aunt, slipped her hand into Miss 
Matilda’s, and seated herself on a low chair close by that lady. 

“ I don’t know,” continued Miss Stanbuiy, slowly ; “ but I think there’s good stuff 
in him. I think, if he were once clear of the follies of his youthful days, he would 
keep out of debt in future, and make Bessie a good husband. The long and short of 
which, Mr. Brine, is this, that I’m a very foolish old woman, and would help Captain 
Detfield out of his difliculties if I could. Now, if you can let me know how much is 
wanted, then I should be able to say if it were within my power to assist him.” 

“ I don’t know how to thank you for Charlie, Miss Stanbuiy,” replied Brine, It’s a 
magnificent offer ; but it cannot be, you know.” 

“ And why not, sir ? ” retorted Miss Matilda, sharply. 

“ Because I don’t quite think Charlie would allow you to pay his debts for him,” said 
Brine, slowly. 

“ It has been the special prerogative of all aunts and uncles in every play I ever 
saw, — in every novel I ever read. If not his aunt yet, I am able to state, on the very 
best authority, that I am about to be ; ” and here Miss Bessie received a pinch that made 
her ear tingle. 

“AVell, we must think about it. Miss Stanbuiy,” replied Brine, guardedly. 
“ Whatever Charlie may decide, his gratitude to you must remain unbounded.” 

“ I suppose he would have allowed his wife to pay his debts ? ” retorted Miss Stan- 
buiy, with some asperity. “ I can’t see much distinction.” 

Brine was conscious that he was involved in a very awkward argument, and only 
wished himself well out of it. He had dim memories of the schemes with which 
Charlie had first sought Iloscneath House, and felt .that he was taking higher ground 
than circumstances quite warranted. 

“ When he asked Miss Bessie to marry him, he didn’t know she was an heiress,” 
said Brine, at length. 

‘‘ No, that was very like him ; as if he would ever have married her if she wasn’t,” 
observed Miss Stanbuiy. 

‘‘ Then he could not withdraw his words without the lady’s consent, which he will 
never have,” interposed Bessie, with a slight blush. 

“ And, therefore, you see it is all different,” continued Brine, speaking very fast ; 
‘‘ and, after all, it is Charlie has got to decide, not me. I’ll find out what you want. 
Miss Stanbuiy ; and in the mean time I’ve a lot to do, and must say good-by ; ” and, 
before Miss Matilda could collect herself for another attack, he had shaken hands, 
and left the house. 

“ Wheugh ! ” he muttered, when he got outside. ‘‘ What a fool I was to give my 
opinion, as if it isn’t all Charlie’s business. There’s plenty of men would find no fault 
with anybody who paid their debts, — let it be who it might.” 


216 


Two Kisses, 


CHAPTER XL. 

NEMESIS. 

Cissy, buried in the corner of a first-class carriage, is a vietim to the saddest reflec- 
tions as she hurries to town. She has forgotten, for the present, all her conceived 
wrongs. She remembers nothing now but that the man she loves lies wrestling with 
death ; has lain, her father writes word, for days past, waging fell struggle for exist- 
ence, — and she has not been by his pillow. She blames herself bitterly. lie, ever 
so kind and thoughtful of her, yet the first time she in her womanhood is called upon 
to be a true wife to him, she Avas absent from his side. 

“ Xo, I Avas Avrong to part in that Avay, to leave him Avithout a word. My God ! 
shall I ever hear him Avhisper my name again ? To think that I may be too late ; that 
the lips Avhich had always soft Avords for me may be closed forever ; ” and Cissy’s eyes 
filled. It Avas, indeed, only by a violent effort she refrained from a very tempest of 
tears. 

Arrived in toAvn, she dro\x straight to Park Crescent and rang. The tan in front 
of the house, the blinds but half draAvn up, all spok(f vividly of sickness Avithin. 
Houses are Avont to assume an aspect of Avoe Avhen some one of their inmates lies 
stricken nigh to death. Houses have physiognomies, and a house that holds a flicker- 
ing life Avithin it is eas}" to recognize. Cissy shivered, Avarm summer day though it 
Avas, as she stood on the door-step aAvaiting an ansAver to her summons. She felt as 
if the dread shadoAV of the destroyer Avere already on her home. 

But the door opened, and the butler appeared, only to be throAvn into a state of 
imbecility and confusion by the apparition of his mistress that Avas painful to Avitncss. 
To her quick, anxious inquiry after her husband, he faltered out the parrot-like 
rejoinder, “ Master’s pretty much the same, ma’ am,” Avhich he had dispensed to all 
callers for the last four or five da^’s. 

But Avhat did utterly puzzle him AA’'as Avherc he Avas to shoAV his mistress. He had 
a sort of undefined idea that his duty required him to say, “ Not at home ; ” that somc- 
hoAv Mrs. Gore ought not to come there; but then, again, hoAv Avas he to refuse 
admission to his mistress ? Cissy relieved him of this dilemma by brushing rapidly 
past him, and ascending the stairs. The butler Avas recalled to himself by the exi- 
gency of the situation ; he folloAved his mistress rapidly upstairs, and exclaimed, as 
they gained the landing : — 

“ Please step into the drawing-room, ma’am, Avhile I send upstairs to say you are 
here. Master is alloAvcd to see no one ; and really it Avould be more prudent that the 
nurses, and so on, should be let know of your arrival.” 

Tdiere Avas reason in this. 


Nemesis. 


217 


“ Yes, it would be best. Send quick ; at once, you understand, Benson,” replied 
Cissy, as she threw herself upon a fauteuil. 

Now, it must be remembered that the domestics in Park Crescent were quite 
unaware of the blacker accusation that had been levelled against Cissy. They 
believed simply that a violent quarrel had taken place between their master and mis- 
tress, and that the latter, in her an;^er, had suddenly betaken herself to Brompton- 
super-Mare. In their own set in London, this was the accepted version of Mrs. Gore’s 
abrupt disappearance from her home. True, there were the cynics, as there always 
will be, who held that when a woman ran away from her husband there was always 
another man ut the bottom of it. But those who could give a personality to this man 
were very few, if we except the well-informed population of Brompton-super-Mare. 

We know that both her husband and Brine, unfortunately for Cissy, are two of the 
firmest believers in her guilt. John Paynter shakes his head, as he talks the thing 
over with his wife, and says he hopes it may come out all right, “But there was a 
mysterious stranger, you know, Lizzie.” 

“And I don’t care if there were fifty mysterious strangers,” retorted Mrs. Paynter, 
impetuously, “ and if Cissy was always meeting them. I tell you, John, she loved 
her husband very dearly, though she didn’t quite know it. She’s run away alone ; 
take my word for it.” 

Mr. Brine, when he received the intelligence that Mrs. Gore was in the drawing- 
room, was as much taken a-back as his informant, the butler, had been previously. 
To him there was something revolting in the effrontery of this woman, who could 
come from the side of her paramour to sit by what would probably be her husband’s 
death-bed. There lingered no doubt of Cissy’s guilt in his mind ; had he not been 
down to Brompton-super-Mare and seen for himself ? She had fled from her husband’s 
home. She was there with Claxby Jenkens. There could be but one inference drawn 
from that. • 

Mr. Brine by no means fancied the interview that laid before him ; but he had 
made up his mind fully, and intended to swerve not one bit from his decision. Mrs. 
Gore must be made to understand that she had forfeited the shelter of her husband’s 
roof; that her presence in that house was an insult past toleration ; in short, that she 
must leave it, and at once. Ail this Brine had determined to explain to her thoroughly, 
— gently, if that would suffice; but in curt, forcible English should it be necessary; 
and to a woman who could act, as in his eyes Cissy had acted. Brine thought it very 
possible it would be to the latter method he should be called upon to resort. 

“ I suppose it will end in a scene,” he muttered, as he slowly descended the stairs ; 
“ but stay in this house she shan’t, I’m determined. What the deuce is her motive, I 
wonder ? Some scheme concerning the proprieties, I suppose. I shouldn’t be sur- 
prised if she’s speculating upon how many hours poor Montie has still to live, — the 
Jezebel ! ” 

lie opened the drawing-room door. Mrs. Gore sprang quickly from her seat, as the 
handle turned, and advanced to meet the new-comer. 


218 


Two Kisses. 


“ Mr. Brine ! ” she exclaimed, in tones of visible disappointment, as she bent 
haughtily towards him. She had not forgotten the stiffness with which he had 
acknowledged her salutation at Brompton-super-Marc. “ I suppose,” she continued, 
after a few seconds’ hesitation, “ that I may now go to my husband.” 

“ I regret to say, Mrs. Gore, that is quite impossible,” replied Brine. 

“ Impossible ! how so ? Surely my presence can do Montague no harm, — how is 
he ? is he still delirious ? does he know people ? ” 

“ Poor Montie has recognized nobody for days.” 

“ I have but this morning heard of his illness,” continued Cissy, in a low, passionate 
whisper. “ I hurried up from Brompton-super-Mare immediately. Surely, Mr. 
Brine, the doctors can have no valid reason for refusing his wife her privilege of 
nursing him. Do not be afraid that I shall break down, or do anything foolish; 
believe me, I have plenty of command over myself. I blame myself severely that I 
should have been away when it happened ; ” and as she finished. Cissy brushed the 
tears from the wet lashes, and looked almost pleadingly up into his face. 

“ A consummate actress, this woman,” thought Brine. 

“ Mrs. Gore,” he replied, “ pray don’t oblige me to speak more plainly ; but surely 
you must see that your remaining in this house, after what has taken place, is an 
impossibility.” 

“ Ah ! you have heard that Montague and I have quarrelled. I might have guessed 
as much from your manner. But is a quarrel, that might have been already healed 
had Montague not been struck down, to debar me from my right to tend him now he 
is sick ? ” 

“ Such quarrel as there is between 3^011 two undoubtedly docs,” replied Brine, 
bitterly. 

“ I denj" it. You have always disliked me. I could sec it the first evening we ever 
met, though ignorant of the cause of my offending. And now,” continued Ciss\q 
haughtil}', “ I challenge 3^our right to come between us. By what authorit}', sir, do 
3'ou take it upon yourself to interpose between husband and wife ? ” As she con- 
cluded, Ciss3" drew herself up, and her gray eyes flashed defiance at her adversaiy. 

“ I interpose as Montague Gore’s most intimate friend, — as one to whom he con- 
fided the shameful story of his wife’s desertion ; as one who has since veritied the 
stoiy for himself. I act for Montague as he would for himself, could he uiiuerstand 
your presence in this house. Don’t question nw authorit}",” added Brine, stcriih". 

“ I do, and more than ever now,” returned Cissj". “ Montague tell 3'ou why I 
left him ! I’ll not believe it. Shameful ! ” she exclaimed, scornfully" ; “ his conscience 
told him why ; but, ah ! ” she continued, dropping her voice, “ this is no time to 
blame him ; but believe me, Mr. Brine, what shame there might be, rests not with me.” 

Fox Brine stood for a moment almost stupetied by what he conceived this woman’s 
e^itraord inary audacity^ ; then he rqolied, in almost menacing tones : — 

“ Once for all, will you take my' advice, and leave this house quietly" ? I am loath, 
very, to speak to you plainly".” 


Nemesis. 


219 


“ Speak, sir! ” replied Cissy, as she reared her head, proudly. “ I should like to 
hear upon what grounds you conceive yourself entitled to forbid me my own house. 
I can imagine your having been at some pains to rake up stories to my disadvantage.*’ 

The contemptuous tones, the final taunt, were not calculated to make her adver 
sary stay his hand. Brine, moreover, looked upon this woman as utterly false ; still 
there was more of sadness than bitterness in his voice, as he replied, quietly : — 

“ You would hear the charges against you summed up ? You would know what 
version your husband and his friends have of your sudden flight ? ” 

Cissy winced a little even at this word. 

“ For weeks past, then, it has been known to your husband and his intimates, that 
you were in the habit of giving clandestine rendezvous to a stranger. I, myself, 
upon one occasion, saw you part with this man in Montague square, and allow him to 
kiss you in so doing.” 

Cissy could not repress a movement of surprise. 

“ Your husband expostulates ; a few days after, you leave your home, and, when 
next heard of, you are established at Brompton-super-Mare, with this identical 
stranger as your companion. The stranger is identified as Major Claxby Jenkens, — 
a man more known than respected about town. There is but one conclusion the 
world can draw from this story, and if you could have heard the current gossip at 
Brompton-super-Mare you would have found that there, at all events, they had drawn 
that deduction.” 

Cissy had thrown herself on a sofa, and, with face buried in her hands, lay literally 
cowering under the foul charge on which she stood arraigned. As if a veil had been torn 
from before her e3’’es, she suddenly recognized how her conduct could be judged by 
her acquaintance ; could be, forsooth ? — had been. She saw how plausible the whole 
story was. She could understand how Brine had been led to believe in it. But, 
Montague, ah! Montague should have known her better; he ought not to have 
judged her so hastily. 

Then it flashed across her how she had judged him ; had she not deemed him false 
upon even more slender evidence ? She had convicted him upon a kiss, while she, 
herself, had been found guilty upon a train of circumstantial evidence of which a 
kiss was but a link. It occurred to her that she had AVTonged Montague, verily, as 
she herself was foully wronged at that moment. 

Brine remained silent. A few minutes, and Cissy raised herself, pushed back the 
dark masses of hair from her temples, and looked gravely at him. There w^as no 
' defiance now in her attitude ; her face w^as very still, though her lips trembled slightly 
as she spoke. 

“ Mr. Brine,” she said, gently, “ I have heard this terrible charge for the first time. 
You have seen me overwhelmed by it. A woman may well be that, although inno- 
cent ; and I tell you I am innocent. I tell you I can disprove the whole story in the 
course of a day or two. But so cleverly have appearances combined against me I 
can hardly blame you for holding me guilty, as I see you do. It is useless for me to 


220 


T%vo Kisses. 


say more at present. Major Jenkens shall explain wliat the relations between us 
really are, and, believe me, this hideous accusation will then tumble to pieces like a 
bouse of cards.” 

Brine was struck by the change in her manner. The first shock at hearing the 
charge made against her overcome, and she met it in quiet, resolute, steadfast 
fashion ; not defiantly, nor j’ct lightly ; but as a woman might, who, thoroughly 
impressed with the gravity of her situation, yet felt no manner of doubt about clearing 
herself in the eyes of all men, and that right speedily. 

She was silentTor a little ; then once more she looked beseechingly at him, and her 
voice shook a little as she spoke. 

“ You are prejudiced against me, Mr. Brine ; but when I pledge you my word that 
this calumny not only can be, but will be almost immediately, refuted, do you still 
dare to refuse me my place by my husband’s sick-bed ? ” 

Brine was staggered. He had entered that room with no doubt of this -woman’s 
guilt. He had entertained no doubt of it, when he summed up so tersely the evi- 
dence against her. He had deemed her acting a part all through the first portion of 
their interview' ; but Cissy’s last w’ords had the ring of truth in them ; and her quiet, 
earnest, self-sustained manner assuredly carried no consciousness of guilt about it. 

“ Mrs. Gore,” he replied, at length, “ I don’t think I’m prejudiced against you, but 
I will own, fairly, that I have judged you as the' w'orld has judged you till the last 
few minutes. No man, I think, could have heard you assert your innocence of that 
of Avhich you are accused, w’ithout at least pausing to reflect whether he may not 
have been mistaken.” .i, 

“ Thank you, Mr. Brine,” replied Cissy, with a grateful smile ; “ then admit my 
right to go to my husband.” 

She was thinking more even now of regaining the privilege of w^atching and tending 
the sick-bed of the man she loved than of re-establishing her fair fame. 

“ I am afraid that cannot be,” replied Brine, uneasily. 

“ Why not"? ” asked Cissy, eagerly. “ You said you held me innocent,” 

“ I didn’t quite say that. I said I thought I had been mistaken. I say now, I 
devoutly trust that before forty-eight hours Mrs. Gore will have triumphantly refuted 
all the scandal at present associated with her name. Nobody will be more delighted 
than myself; nobody will more humbly apologize for having for a little doubted 
her.” 

“ I still do not see why I may not go to my husband,” cried Cissy, imploringly. 
“ It is no guilty woman who asks you. Do you think, if I were, I could dare set foot in 
his house ? It is a wife wdio asks to tend the husband she loves wdth her whole heart, 
in his hour of need. I must, I wdll go. It’s God’s tvidh, I’ve done nothing to forfeit 
the rights my marriage vow gave me ! ” and, starting to her feet, Cissy would have 
left the room, had not Brine intei-posed. 

“ Impossible ! For your sake as much as his,” he cried. 

My sake ? ” exclaimed Cissy. 


X 


Nemesis. 


221 


“ Yes ; can you not see it ? Surely, you don’t want to force the brutal explanation 
from my lips ? ” 

“ I don’t understand you,” said Cissy, her gray eyes open wide with astonishment. 

“ Cannot you fancy what the world will say, if you stay here before your innoeence 
is established ? ” 

“ No. AYhat scandal can come of my nursing my husband ? ” 

Brine’s face flushed, and his voice came thick with shame, as he said : — 

** Don’t blame me. The world will probably say that you took advantage of your 
husband’s prostration to obtain pardon of your sin.” 

Cissy started, and literally trembled from head to foot. 

‘‘ I thank you, sir,” she said, after a slight pause. “ I had needed to have been, 
indeed, the guilty woman you think me to have dreamed that it was possible to take 
that view of my return. You handle the knife ruthlessly, Mr. Brine ; you lay open 
wounds and spare not. I understand now, — I am not fit to be beneath my husband’s 
roof while this foul stain rests upon me. A few hours, and you yourself shall apolo- 
gize for the wrong you have done me. Poor Montague ! I don’t think he would 
have judged his foolish wife so hardly. I think he would have taken my word for 
my innocence without waiting for the proofs. He did love me.” 

“ If I have spoken harshly, Mrs. Gore, forgive me. If you are an innocent woman, 
believe me, it is all for the best.” 

I will try to think so. One thing you cannot refuse me, — you will send me word 
of any change to the Langham Hotel. And, Mr. Brine,” continued Cissy, as her 
voice dropped to a whisper, “ remember, should it be — should it be for the worse, 
guilty or not guilty, I must bid him good-by. You cannot stand between us at such 
a moment.” 

“ No. You shall be sent for,” replied Brine. 

“ You promise.” 

“ I swear it.” 

“ Good-by,” and, with a slight inclination of her head. Cissy took her departure. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

A.NAI.YZING A KISS. 

Cissy, on leaving her husband’s house, drove straightway to the Langham Hotel, 
engaged a room, and telegraphed to her maid to join her there next day. She had 
chosen this hotel because it was but little distance from Park Crescent. Moreover, 
there were porters up all night, and, in the event of that terrible -summons arriving 
for her, she thought she could count upon being speedily aroused, should it come to 
her in the night-time. 


222 


Two Kisses. 


Very, very sad vr&s Cissy. It wai terrible to think that Montague eould have 
believed all this of her; frightful to th.nk that he might die and never hear her expla- 
nation. Saddest of all was it that she should be deemed to have forfeited her right 
to watch over him in his illness. Then she thought once more over the scene she 
had witnessed in his chambers between him and Lizzie Paynter. If it was possible 
her own conduct could have been so misconstrued, might she not also have built up 
her theoiy regarding her husband’s relations with Mrs. Pay liter upon equally unsub- 
stantial grounds ? ” 

What was it she had seen ? An earnest conversation between them, at the termi- 
nation of which Montague had kissed her. She had been unable to hear what they 
said. She had imagined a love-scene between them, but was forced to confess it was 
founded entirely upon that one kiss. Yet, even in her penitence and humility. Cissy 
felt that it was a kiss she had a right to demand explanation of. She would. From 
her husband it was impossible ; but she would have the whole affair out with Lizzie 
Paynter to-morrow. 

A somewhat hazardous experiment this. Difficult to say how Mrs. Paynter would 
take such an attack. For Lizzie was a woman cunning of fence, and the opportunity 
of carrying the war into the enemy’s country, should she wax angry, was only too 
obvious. 

In the mean time Mrs. Gore despatched a messenger with a note to Charles street, 
begging her father to call upon her the first thing the next morning. When the 
messenger returned, he brought back word the major had gone out of town for a day 
or two. 

The Fates apparently were against Cissy. To clear her fair fame it was essential 
that the major should bear testimony. lie not only could state, but prove, that she 
was his daughter. However strong his reasons for keeping in the background. Cissy 
had little fear but that he would come forward when he heard of what she was 
accused. 

It was in her eyes of vital importance that she should clear herself at once. Not 
so much on account of the scandal, — Cissy’s lip curled contemptuously as she thought 
how surely she could demolish that piece of malicioif^ gossip, — but till she could do 
so, she was still banished from the place she now most coveted on earth, — the side of 
her husband’s couch. 

Who has not at some time known that terrible tortur§ of waiting, with idle hands, 
for the hourly bulletin of the health of some one very dear to us ; when you can do 
nothing; when medical skill confesses the issue to be in the hands of the Creator; 
when there remains nothing we can do to alleviate, nothing we can do to assist the 
suflcrcr in his grim wrestle with death ; when you sit with folded arms awaiting 
the result of the struggle in which all power to help is denied you ? 

Even then, where one loves deeply, it is something to be able to smooth the pillow, 
to bathe the patient’s brow, to moisten the parched lips. To those that sit patiently 
within call of the sick-room, and simply await, the pain is infinitely more than to those 


' Analyzing a Kiss. 


223 


who are performing' such simple and perhaps useless offices. To stand motionless, a 
mere spectator of the fight, is always a lot hard to bear. Cissy is doomed to stand 
quite aloof, and wait for tidings, — she whose loving hands should have performed 
those tasks now left to professional nurses. 

She had lain down dressed on her bed, so as to be ready at a moment’s notice. In her 
state of anxiety sleep was an impossibility. She descended from her room as soon as 
the hotel recognized that the day had begun. A cup of strong cofiee braced her 
nerves a little, but the waiting soon became past bearing. 

A messenger from Brine informed her that there was as yet no change in her 
husband; that the doctors looked more anxious than ever, and said he must sleep 
soon, or sleep the sleep that knows no waking. The waiting became unendurable ; the 
tension on the nerves could be borne no longer. She must do something ; action of 
some kind was imperative ; she would cany out her last night’s idea. She would go 
and see Lizzie Paynter. 

Ordering a brougham to be ready at a moment’s notice, she gave the clerk special 
directions to send it after her w'ith any messenger that should arrive, and then, getting 
into a hansom, drove rapidly off to Mrs. Paynter’s. 

Lizzie’s astonishment knew no bounds when her visitor was announced, but she 
sprang up to receive her with genuine pleasure. . 

“ I knew I was right,” thought Lizzie ; “ if the whole story had not been a dreadful 
calumny, she wouldn’t have come to see me.” 

“ My dear Cissy ! ” she exclaimed, seizing her visitor by both hands, I am charmed 
to see you. You so persistently refused to have anything to say or to do with me 
before you ran, — I mean left town, that I could only infer I had offended you in 
some way.” 

“ It may be you had,” replied Cissy, quietly releasing herself ; “ we wiU come to that 
presently. I want to have a talk with you.” 

“ With pleasure. One moment, while I tell them I am not at home ; ” and Lizzie 
rang and gave the answering footman the necessary instructions. “ There, now I am 
at your disposal until luncheon, for which the court must adjourn, you know, and then 
I’m ready to gossip again till dinner-time.” 

“ I’m in slight humor for gossip,” replied Cissy. ‘‘ Do you know that my husband 
is dying ; that I am told it is almost hoping against hope to think otherwise ? ” 

Lizzie bowed her head in assent. 

“And do you know what the world has thought fit to charge me with ? ” continued 
Cissy, in the same hard, mechanical tones she had used throughout. 

“ Yes, I have heard it ; and, as John will tell you, have pronounced it a foul lie from 
the beginning, — a charge that you could speedily clear yourself of when it came to your 
ears ; and I am right. Cissy, am I not ? ” exclaimed Mrs. Paynter, vehemently. 

“ Yes, thank you for your belief in me. It is something to have had one friend who 
held me not utte^y worthless.” 

“ My darling ! ” cried Mrs. Paynter, impulsively, “ that there was something wrong 


224 


Two Kisses. 


between you and Montie, T knew ; but that what was said of you was false I could 
swear.” 

A jealous twinge ran through Cissy at hearing her husband so familiarly alluded to, 
but she gulped it down determinedly, and in the same cahn^ steady voice j^id ; — 

“ Did 3*ou ever guess what was wrong between Montague and me ? ” 

“ I think so,” replied Mrs. Paynter, softl}". 

“Whatr’ 

“ This is not quite a fair question, CissN*. I may be mistaken, you know, and my 
surmise might onl}' make 3*011 angry. I can see quite clearly that 3*ou have something 
against me as it is, and mark me, I want to know what ? ” 

For a moment Mrs. Gore c^'cd her hostess keenly, and then said slowly : — 

“ You are sure of tluit ? ” 

“ Quite,” replied INIrs. Paj^ntcr, nestling still further into the embraces of the 
luxuriant arm-chair in which she was seated. 

“ Then, before "wc come to that, you must tell me what 3*011 think Montague and I 
quarrelled about. Afterwards, as 3mu happen to be mLxed up in it, I will tell 3*011 why 
I left him.” 

“ Me ! — I have an3*thing to do with 3*our running off to Brompton-super-Mare ? ” 
exclaimed Lizzie, with unfeigned surprise. 

“ Y'ou w*ill see ; answ*er my question.” 

“ I thought this, although 3*011 didn’t quite know it, my dear,” replied Mrs. Pa3*nter, 
not without a soupcon of malice in her voice, — “ 3*ou had just fallen madh^ in love with 
your husband. He expostulated w*ith 3mu about some queer acquaintance 3*011 had, — 
a relic, I suppose, of 3*our old Paris da3*s, — and in 3*0111* anger at finding 3’*our love so 
little understood and believed in, 3*011 took high dudgeon, and w*ent off with 3*0111* maid.” 

Cissy blushed crimson at finding that her secret had been so cleverly read ; that this 
great love of hers had been patent to her friend, even before she w*as aware of it herself. 

“You’re right in part; but only in part. That I love my husband passionatel3*, I 
am proud to avow. I left him, as I thought, upon much stronger grounds than those.” 

Lizzie’s open blue e3*es and eager face expressed how interested she felt in the 
coming revelation. 

“ Do 3mu remember going to see my husband at his chambers ? ” asked Mrs. Gore. 

Lizzie could not repress a slight start. She had deemed that a circumstance utterly 
unknown to her visitor. 

“You do, I see ; and 3*ou probably remember all that took place there,” continued 
Cissy. 

“ Ah ! you saw that interview*, then,” replied Mrs. Pavntcr, nestling once more into 
the depths of her chair, with apparently intense enjo3'mcnt. She felt quite cas3’’ now 
she knew* wdicrc the attack w*as to be made, she knew* how facile it w*as to explain it all ; 
but she had hardl3* been w’oman if she had not determined that Ciss3* should be exer- 
cised a little upon what she considered must have lieen unfairly acquired knowledge. 

“ I saw the finish of it, at all events,” returned Mrs. Gore, with some asperity. 


Analyzing a Kiss. 


225 


** Wlicre were you ? ” inquired Lizzie, with a naivete almost ludicrous. 

That matters little, I wish you to explain why you went there.” 

** To see Montie Gore,” replied Mrs. Payuter, maliciously. “ But where were you ? 
Did he know you weixi there ? ” 

Will you tell me why you were there ? ” asked Cissy again, with a decided tremor 
in her voice. 

In your interest, my dear ; and I fancy I served you pretty well, although it has 
all come about in a very different manner from that I intended.” 

Do you understand that I saw all that took place between you and my husband ? ^ 
exclaimed Cissy, passionately, 

Mrs. Payntcr gave a quick little nod of assent, and then became, to all intents, lost 
in admiration of the lace of her pocket-handkerchief. 

“ You understand this,” continued Cissy, in quick, vehement tones ; “ and you think 
I am fool enough to believe that you were studying my interests in stealing my hus- 
band’s love from me \ ” 

** I what ? ” intcri'uptcd Mrs. Paynter, with great elevation of her eyebrows. 

'‘*Did your best to steal my husband’s love from me,” reiterated Ciss}’’, hotly; 
** how far you have been successful I dare hardly think. I know I have been a fool ; 
that I have been induced to withhold from him a confidence I should not ; that I have 
tried his love hardly. Surely he did love me once. Was it for you, .who I believed 
my friend, to take advantage of our misunderstanding, — to snatch at what I in my 
madness had treated with disdain ? God help me 1 Lizzie, but I had deemed you true 
to me, at all events.” A slight sob shook Cissy’s voice as she finished ; and even the 
arch-coquette opposite her felt a little uncomfortable as she witnessed her visitor’s 
unmistakable emotion; but Lizzie was determined to play her game out for more 
reasons than one. 

An ugly vice that jealousy,” thought Mrs. Paynter; ** a sharp lesson will benefit 
you, my dear and then the vivacious lady, who, good-natured though she was, had 
a slight dash of tlie cat in her disposition, could not forbear the pleasure of teasing 
her friend just a little longer. 

“ I really don’t know what you mean,” replied Mrs. Paynter, at length. 

** Don't equivocate,” returned Mrs. Gore, fiercely. ** I saw Montague kiss you with 
my own eyes.” 

Ah ! it was veiy lucky you did, you know,” 

** What! ” cried Cissy, starting to her feet, 

** Very lucky,” returned Mrs. Paynter, demurely. “ You would never have found 
out you loved your husband if you hadn’t. There, sit down, do, and I will tell you 
all about it. I’m tired of teasing you, you foolish child ! ” 

Cissy dropped once more into her chair, and stared through her wet lashes in mute 
astonishment at her tormentor. 

Mrs. Paynter had not quite meant to let her off so 'cheaply ; but Cissy was so evi- 
dently in such sore distiess that her better nature otercame her love of fun. 


226 


Two Kisses. 


“You saw Montague kiss lue,” she said, after a short pause; “well, I’ll own to 
to you, in the first place, I do nut think he could have well helped it. It is possible, 
ray dear, to put a man in such a situation that, unless he’s an utter barbarian, he can 
do no less. Montague, not being an in’eclaimable savage, bowed to circumstances. 
Do you understand that ? ” 

“ No,” returned Cissy, shortly. 

“ Did you see how it came about ? ” 

“I fancy so.” . 

“ I don’t think you did quite. Well, as I said before, it was my caprice of the 
minute to make your husband kiss me. Without being veiy gauche he could hardly 
have done otherwise. What did it mean ? About as much as if he had shaken hands 
with me. No colder kiss was ever laid on woman’s cheek. I had brought him what 
he deemed very good new’s. I had poured balm into a bleeding wound, ma mie, that 
you refused to bind up. It was my whim, never mind why, to have a kiss for my fee. 
You needn’t look anxious, I’ve no wish to repeat the experiment. Being kissed by 
a statue is all I can compare it to; and if you think we are the least bit in love 
with each other, you mistake. Come, I’ll confess I’d just a tiny bit of pique to 
gi’atify.” 

“ But still, what led you to go down to his chambers ? ” 

“ Because I wanted to see him,” replied Mrs. Payntcr, with a little grimace. 

“ But why didn’t you call in Park Crescent ? ” persisted Cissy. 

“ Because, you noodle, I wanted to see him alone ; because I wanted to explain to 
him that he was laboring under an egregious misconception.” 

“What was that ? ” 

Mrs. Payntcr’s blue eyes sparkled mischievously. 

“ I wanted to tell him something that you wouldn’t; something that he was fretting 
his heart to know. Can j^ou guess what it was. Cissy ? ” 

Cissy’s face flushed rosy-red. She answered nothing, but looked mutely at her 
friend. 

“ AVell, what I did tell him Avas this : That his wife loved him veiy dearly, and that 
he Avas making a very great mistake in supposing she didn’t ; and that I Avas getting 
quite Avrctchcd at seeing tAvo people, AV'hom I knew to be really attached to each other, 
drifting apart from some miserable misunderstanding that I Avas unable to fathom. I 
knoAV,” continued Mrs. Paynter, Avith mock humility, “ that I did veiy Avrong ; one 
should never interfere between husband and Avife. John told me so, and John’s 
ahvays right. Can you forgive me ? ” 

“ Forgive you ! ” cried Cissy, springing from her seat, crossing and throwing her 
arms round her friend. “ Can you forgive me, Lizzie, for having so cruelly doubted 
you? If I had ncA^er come to Montague’s chambers that morning, I should have 
saved both myself and him much misery ; looking liack, I understand it all now. I 
comprehend all his eftbrts to coipe to an understanding Avith me; hoAV patient he Avas 
under iny coldness and insolence; I, at the time, thinking 1 Avas doubly betrayed; 


Analyzing a - Kiss. 


227 


wronged by my friend, wronged by my husband ! the dupe, the mere cat’s-paw of you 
both. Fool that I was ! And yet, Lizzie, I had some slight excuse, — that scene had 
made most wives jealous.” 

“ Yes,” replied Lizzie, “ but who was to guess you were looking on ? ” 

If I looked, I suffered,” replied Cissy, simply. 

“ I’m afraid you did; and was that the reason you took yourself off to Brompton- 
super-Mare ? ” 

Cissy nodded. 

Ah, well ! I think I’ll never plot again. It’s all veiy well for the dramatists, who 
can settle their last act beforehand ; but- in real life our dramas don’t quite come off 
as we intend them. But, Cissy, arc you sure you have quite got over it ? ” 

“ Got over what ? ” 

“ The — the — you know.” 

“ I don’t.” 

“ Well, that kiss,” said Mrs. Paynter, her eyes dancing with fun. ** It was a veiy 
wee one, you know, because you saw it.” 

“Yes, I forgive Montague, because I believe such temptation to be beyond man’s 
strengtli,” replied Cissy, smiling, “ when you play temptress.” 

“ That’s not forgiving me,” laughed Lizzie. 

“ No ; but I can afford to forgive you in one sense. You did deserve it for what 
you tried to bring about.” 

“ And why not pardon me altogether ? ” asked Mrs. Paynter, curiously. 

“ You couldn’t expect me to.” 

“But why?” 

A gleam of the old humor flashed over Cissy’s face as, putting her lips down to 
Mrs. Paynter’s ear, she whispered : — 

* “ You can’t expect me to forgive you for not appreciating what you got, you know. 
I consider them valuable.” 

“ It’s all very well,” laughed Mrs. Paynter. “ I’m afraid these men are all alike, 
and, after the manner of dishonest tradesmen, keep them of two qualities.” 

“ I must go, Lizzie. You have taken a load off my heart; but I am in sad trouble 
still.” 

“ Of course, you must be,” replied Mrs. Paynter, suddenly sobered, as she thought 
of poor Montague battling for life. “ Hope for the best. Cissy. I know, poor 
fellow, he hangs between life and death ; still, though I don’t know why, I have a 
presentiment he will pull through, and that there are many happy years in store 
Yor you.” 

“ That he should die and never know the truth about me^ what seems to me so 
terrible,” replied Cissy, tearfully. 

“ You mustn’t think of that. I’m anxious almost as you can be, and send every 
morning to inquire. Good-by, my darling,” and, with a warm embrace, the two 
reconciled friends separated. 


228 


Two Kisses. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

THE MAJOR DOES HIS DUTY BY ROXBY. 

Major Jenkens, as we have heard, was out of town. Unfoi’tunately, too, for 
Cissy, on his return next morning, he drove straight to his office in John street 
instead of to his chambers in Charles street, Berkeley square. The major had been 
down to confer with one of his principal employers, to receive final instructions on a 
rather delicate piece of business, which that worthy had thought fit to confide 
to him. 

Of all his employers, of all the men he had ever been engaged in business or 
nefarious transactions with, this man Simmonds was the only one for whom the major 
had conceived a positive awe. Of him he had almost a superstitious dread. He had 
witnessed so much of Mr. Simmonds’ malevolence, been so astonished at his multi- 
plicity of resource, at the boundless information he appeared to procure, that the 
major had registered a solemn vow always to be perfectly straightforward in all deal- 
ings between them. He was the one man Claxby Jenkens owned he dared not 
quaiTel with ; the one man he never attempted to get the best of. 

Roxby, he admitted, was clever, veiy clever, — not easy by any means to get the 
weather-gauge of Roxby. That eminent financier had proved too many for him 
more than once ; but still, give him a sufficiently strong hand, and the major was 
ready to fight his battle over again with Roxby at any time. 

With Simmonds it was difierent. He felt that the truculent money-lender was too 
ftiucli for him, too cunning of fence for him to venture to cross swords with. Claxby 
Jenkens was too astute a man to overrate his own capabilities, and he acknowledged 
that Simmonds was beyond him. 

Mr. Simmonds, it may be remembered, was the principal holder of that luckless 
insolvent Detfield’s bills. If there was one point on which Mr. Simmonds was per- 
fectly inflexible it was the having his own again, with all the profits accruing from 
the lending of money upon doubtful security. In Captain Dctfield’s case, that, at 
present, looked far from hopeful ; at all events, for a considerable period. 

Mr. Simmonds, turning the matter over in his own mind, arrived at the conclusion 
that it was possible to procure a settlement of this most unpromising account very 
speedily. Pressure, no doubt, would have to be applied, and it was manifest that it' 
was useless to exercise it further on the guardsman himself. 

“ Necessary,” argued Mr. Simmonds, to squeeze somebody in his behalf, and, as 
luck will have it, I fancy I can give a turn of the screw to sOmc one who has it 
within his power to put things straiglit for the captain. We will see.” 

He had one or two conferences with the major on this point, and finally he asked 
him down tQ dine and sleep, at a small villa he owned at Medenham, to talk it over 


The Major Does His Dtity by Roxby. 


229 


for the last time. Do not think that the usurer had any admiration for the silver 
Tliames, and the lovely scenery of its banks, — he was dead to all such feelings as an 
oyster, lie had got the cottage in part payment of a bad debt, and thought, having 
failed to let it, that he might as well live in it for the summer months. 

The major had returned to town, highly jubilant. He was instructed to have 
another little game with his friend Roxby, and Mr. Simmonds had furnished him with 
a trump or two, that he flattered himself would considerably astonish that gentleman. 

Having deposited his travelling-bag, and looked through his letters in John street, 
the major jumped into a cab, and drove otf to Fenchurch street. He sent up his 
card, and the busy financier received it with more attention than he had done Det- 
field’s. He had little time to wait before a clerk intimated that Mr. Roxby would 
see him. 

‘‘ Good-morning, Jenkens ; sit down and let’s know what it is you’ve come about,” 
said Roxby, cheerfully, as he extended his hand. “ No need to tell you that time is 
always precious in these parts.” 

“ I know,” replied the major, tersely, as he seated himself. “ You must spare me 
a few minutes, though, all the same. I’ve come down on Simmonds’ behalf. You 
know he holds some stiffish bills of Captain Detfield’s ? ” 

“ Of course I do,” replied Roxby, as an evil expression came over his countenance. 
“ It was I recommended him to stand no more nonsense about them, but to have his 
money, or push things to extremities.” 

“ But,” said the major, difiidently, “ you surely didn’t imagine that Detfield could 
pay ? ” ^ 

“ I knew, sir, that if he hadn’t been a puritanical, insolent young prig, he could 
have paid, and that he deseiwed to feel that he was not quite his own master,” 
returned Roxby, savagely. 

“ Still you were quite aware that Simmonds’ chance of getting his money was not im- 
proved by such proceedings,” observed the major, blandly, as he adjusted his spectacles. 

“ That’s as may be ; but you see, my dear Jenkens, whether Simmonds gets his 
money or not is a matter that don’t very much concern me.” 

“ Hum ! I don’t know. Simmonds is a little sore about your advice ; says you 
misled him, to gratify some private pique of your own. Dangerous man to quarrel 
with, don’t you think ? ” 

“ I’ll tell you what I think,” replied Roxby, suavely, — ** that our mutual friend Sim- 
monds never took advice from any one that his own judgment didn’t indorse. If he 
followed my hint, it was because he thought it seemed to offer the best chance of 
recouping himself.” 

“ Well, he has got another idea in his head now. He has heard all about Detfield’s. 
engagement to your ward; of course he secs if that marriage comes off, he would be 
tolerably certain to get his money at once.” 

“ Ah, you had better tell him not to speculate on improbabilities,” rejoined Roxby, 
with an ironical smile. , 


230 


Two Kisses 


“ That’s just where it is, — he insists that, if you would only give your consent, it 
might take place in a few weeks.” 

“ Then you had better inform him, my dear Jenkens, that I never give anything 
away for nothing, except my blessing,” replied Roxby, in the most unctuous tones ; 
“ and tell him, moreover, that if I had not depended upon a blundering confederate 
to pick a suitable partner for her, my charming ward "would have been married some 
weeks back.” 

“ I did my best,” said the major, deprecatingly. 

“ Dear me,” replied Roxby, rubbing his hands, softly, to think of a man of the 
world like you being so deceived ! Of course, it is impossible for any guardian to 
give his consent to a wealthy ward’s marriage with a broken-down spendthrift. I 
cannot countenance anything so preposterous ; no, not even to oblige my dear friend 
Simmonds.” 

“You won’t think me taking a liberty,” said the major, with an accession of ner- 
ousness and humility that should have put his imperious companion on his guard, 
“ *f I point out something to you.” 

“ Oh, dear, no,” replied Roxby, with a benignant smile, “ unless you are about to 
indicate another wooer for Miss Stanbury. You can’t expect me to believe in your 
selections, after the precious mess you’ve made of things so far ; ” and, in spite of his 
smile, there was a vindictive gleam in the financier’s eyes as he concluded. 

“ No ; I was about to point out that you can hardly hope to make money of the 
disposal of your ward’s hand in future.” 

“ "Who told you, sir, that I ever contemplated such a rascally ai’i’ongement ? ” 
returned Roxby, loftily. 

The major deliberately adjusted his spectacles, and stared at his companion. It 
was a bit of hardiessey of impudent effrontery after his own heart. He saw that the 
financier deemed it possible he did not know the exact truth. 

“ 'VVho told me ? ” he said, gently, — “ Captain Detfield. What was the price ? Five 
thousand. What was his answer ? Tolerably personal, contemptuous, and in the 
negative. How do things stand at present ? 1 know no more than this. It is very 
unlikely you will be able to induce Miss Stanbury to accept any one else for a hus- 
band before she is twenty-one. Conclusion, your ward’s hand is no longer sala- 
ble.” 

“Ila! that is the way our bankrupt young friend accounts for his repulse, is it? 
A venomous young scorpion, who would blacken respectable people’s characters, eh ? 
And you think this an additional reason why I should oblige Simmonds ? Jenkens, 
my worthy friend, you grow old, to put it mildly. You showed unmistakable signs 
of appi’oaching your dotage when you selected Captain Detfield as a fit husband for 
my ward.” 

“Did I?” returned the major, quietly; though there was a contraction of the 
muscles about his mouth that augured he was not insensible to Roxby’s taunts. “ I 
venture to remark your instructions were not sufficiently explicit.” 


The Major Does His Duty by Roxby, 231 

Clear enough to any one with average comprehension,” replied Roxby, con- 
temptuously. 

“ No, when 3^011 wanted a thorough blackguard, Avhy couldn’t you sa^' so ? they’re 
by no means scarce.” 

“Enough of this,” cried Roxby, in a voice thick with passion. “Whatever I 
wanted, 1 did not want a nincompoop as confederate. Further discussion is useless. 
1 have lots to do.” 

“ 1 must trespass a few minutes more on }mur time, nevertheless ; we have a little 
wandered from the point, yimmonds, anxious to recover his money, wishes ^mu to 
give your consent to this marriage.” 

“ And as 1 don’t care a rush whether Simmonds recovers his money or not, I shall 
do nothing of the kind. U’here is no more to be said,” and Mr. Roxby threw himself 
back in his chair with the air of a man wearied by a fruitless discussion. 

“ A dangerous man to ollend, Simmonds,” obsciwed the major, dryly. 

“ No doubt, if 3’our head is under his belt, as Dettield’s happens to be ; but jmu see 
I chance to be quite as big, I might say a bigger man than Simmonds in the city. 
An ill-disposed nionc^'-lcndcr is a bugbear I can aflbrd to laugh at. lie neither 
holds nor is likely to hold bills of mine. Now, 1 really have a lot of business to get 
through.” 

“ Then I may tell him that is your fixed determination,” said the major, rising. 

“ Most certainly.” 

“ It’s an odd coincidence after what 3’ou’ve said,” observed the major, carefully 
flicking some dust from his hat with his pocket-handkerchief; “but Simmonds 
happened to mention he held a bill of 3'Ours for two thousand.” 

“ lie hold a bill of mine ! ” ejaculated Roxby, with evident astonishment. 

“Yes; accepted bj' old Muddlehurst. However, you needn’t trouble 3^our head 
about it; Simmonds is not uneasy. He knows j^our name’s good enough, to say 
nothing of having Muddlehur'st’s at the back. lie’s not afraid but what it will be 
met when due. It was onty then it struck me as odd when you said he would never 
hold a bill of ^murs. Good-b}’.” 

“ Stop a moment. How did that bill come into Simmonds’ hands ? ” and an acute 
observer might have detected a slight shade of anxiety in Roxby ’s tone. “ Graves 
and Hownham, who alwa^^s discount m.y paper as they do hundreds of others, are 
celebrated for being close men, who hold it themselves till due. Thej^ owe half their 
business to that one thing. Men engaged in as many financial schemes as 1 am 
don’t like their bills hawked about the market. We pa^' a shade more to Graves and 
Downham for that veiy reason.” 

. “ Of course, 1 know all that; but it seems they have just taken in a new partner. 
He, seeing the linn rather pressed, thought there could be no harm in circulating a 
few of the best bills they had in hand. A mistake, of course.” 

“ It’s an infamous breach of faith,” exclaimed Roxby, angrily. 

“Weil, it is rather; but it can’t matter to 3^011, of course,” and as he spoke he 


232 


Two Kisses, 


eyed his companion keenly from beneath his spectacles. The major rejoiced in the 
conviction that he was about to do his duty towards his neighbor in a somewhat satis- 
factory fashion. 

“ No; though that doesn’t make it any the less a scandalous piece of work on the 
part of Graves and Downham,” retorted Roxby, with evident uneasiness. 

“ Well, good-by,” said the major, as he turned towards the door ; “ I mustn’t take 
up any more of your time. I shouldn’t like to quarrel with Simmonds myself, 
especially when you’ve nothing to get by it. lie’s a dangerous enemy; but, of 
course, you know your own affairs best.” 

“ Good-by,” replied Roxby, shortly. 

But the major was not gone yet ; he paused with his hand on the door, and then, as 
if it had just occun-ed to him, exclaimed ; — 

“ By the way, MudLllehurst’s been very ill lately, hasn’t he ? ” 

“ Not that I’m aware. What makes you ask ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing. Simmonds thought his signature looked wonderfully shaky, 
that’s all.” 

Roxby’s florid face blanched, his lips trembled, and his hands toyed nciwously with 
the pen they had taken up. The two men had changed parfs ; it was Roxby now 
who was the irresolute, hesitating man. As for the major, his face was set hard, his 
lips were compressed, and his dark eyes gleamed beneath his spectacles with that 
cruel, savage light you may see in a cat’s eyes before she springs. 

“ What the deuce do you mean ? ” stammered Roxby, at last. 

What do I mean ? ” he said, in a deep, low voice, as he walked swiftly from 
the door, placed his hands upon the desk, and leaned over the cowering coward seated 
behind it. “ I mean this, — that Simmonds doesn’t believe Muddlehurst ever signed 
his name to that bill ; is so doubtful of the fact, indeed, that he means to ask him 
the question to-morrow.” 

“ Spare me ! Tell him I can and will meet it, so help me God. It will ruin me if 
he makes inquiries ; ” and the wetched forger dropped his head upon his hands 
and literally grovelled before his antagonist. 

The major contemplated him for a moment with cynical contempt. He despised 
utterly a man who could not face the consequences of his misdeeds with perfect 
coolness. The major reekoned courage, or, as he would have termed it, “ pluck,” 
one of the highest of human attributes. If, like the wolf, you live by rapine, it 
behoves you to die like the wolf, mutely fighting, when your time comes. Such was 
the major’s pagan creed, and he faced the consequences of his own escapes ever with 
the utmost hardihood. 

“ Ruin you ! ” he said, at length. ** If what we suspect is true, it would be twenty 
years’ penal servitude for you at least, my friend. Stop ! hold your tongue ! ” he 
cried, seeing that Roxby was about to speak. “We don’t know, mind, that it is not 
Muddlehurst’s signature ; and, providing you do what you’re told, we don’t want to 
know. You’ll pay when the time comes, somehow or other, we’ve no doubt, and if 


The Major Does His Duty by Roxby. 


233 


you did not, Simmonds would not lose over it. Graves and Downham would have to 
make it good. But, mark me, you wull do what we wish, or — ’’ 

Roxby raised his face inquiringly. 

“We shall make inquiries of Muddlehurst,” concluded the major, dryly. 

The utter collapse of the specious scoundrel was almost painful to witness. He Avas 
but as dough now in the hands of his iron adversary. The major Avas quite put out 
at finding himself pitted against so flaccid a foe. lie could not help marvelling hoAV 
he had ever alloAvcd such a craven to get the best of him. 

For once in his life he had been most thoroughly deceived in his estimate of his 
neighbor, lie had deemed Roxby as hard and unscrupulous a rascal as it Avas possible 
to meet. As he said aftci’Avards to his employer : — 

“ I did think he’d have shoAvn fight, but he gave in without a ghost of a struggle.” 

“ What is it you Avaiit of me ? ” inquired the utterly broken-dowm financier humbly 
at length. “ I am in your hands to write, sign, or do Avhat you Avill.” 

“ You’re so far lucky that Ave don’t Avant much of you,” returned the major. “ You 
Avill Avrite at once to Miss Stanbury to say you regret you have been mistaken in your 
opinion of Captain Detfield’s character ; that you have been misinformed ; that he may 
have been a little imprudent, like other young men, but has doubtless seen his folly ; 
has had a severe lesson, in short ; and, as you find your Avard’s feelings are really 
involved, you have no hesitation about giving your consent. There, you kiiOAV the 
sort of letter to Avritc well enough. To do you justice, nobody understands the 
intensely plausible business better than you do.” 

“ What else ? ” 

“ Nothing beyond a note to me to say that you have done so. You get off cheap ; 
it will cost you nothing, but SAvalloAving a little ill-temper Avith regard to Detfield, 
whom, of course, Ave shall stay all proceedings against.” 

“ It shall be done,” replied Roxby, in a low voice ; “ but AA^hat security am I to have 
that all shall end here ? ” 

“ None, — you’re in no position to demand any ; but you may rest assured, that as 
long as you meet this bill when due, and throAV no obstacles in the Avay of this mar- 
riage, you are perfectly safe. And noAV, once more, good-by.” 

“ Good-by,” said Roxby, faintly. 

But again did the major turn Avith his hand on the door. 

“ One bit of advice before I go. I don’t recommend you either to delay or humbug 
about that letter, because I shall knoAV the truth almost immediately. And, further, 
I’d advise you to be straight in your dealings in future ; you haven’t pluck to turn 
rogue successfully.” With AAiiich parting shot the major jubilantly closed the door 
behind him. He had done his duty by Roxby at last. 

As for the latter, he remained long seated at his desk, struggling Avith the contending 
passions of rage and fear ; furious at the idea that he must succumb to Detfield, the 
man avIio has told him Avithout scruple that he Avas a scoundrel ; furious at the thought 
of that five thousand pounds Avhich had slipped through his fingers; furious that 


234 


Two Kisses, 


Claxby Jenkens, ■whom he had long regarded as his tool, should have suddenly 
developed into his master; but too utterly cowed to think of resisting Simmonds’ 
ultimatum. Still a cowardly rogue is ever a slippery customer to deal with, and it 
may l)e that Roxby will prove too many for his adversaries yet. 

As far as the forgery went, it was by no means his lirst olfencc. When pressed 
for money in his business, he htfd often drawn bills, and written some well-known 
city man’s name as the endorser. As such bills had lain quietly at Graves and Down- 
ham’s till due, and then been always promptl}’- met, no question had ever been raised 
concerning them. But for the mistake of a partner, not quite, as yet, conversant 
with the business of the lirm, that fatal note had never been in Simmonds’ hands. 



CIIAPTEll XLIII. 

MR. ROXBY’S CON^^ERSION. 

Roseneatii House has been somewhat sad these last few days. Bessie is in dire 
tribulation about her lover. AV’^ere he in the dungeons of the Inquisition, and liable 
to be put to the question,” she could -scarce take a more gloomy view of his incar- 
ceration. It is natural ; imprisonment to the imagination of a girl of eighteen, of 
Bessie’s class, is apt to be associated with bolts, bars, the vaulted cell, scarce glimmers 
of daylight, fetters, and bread and water. 

She thinks Charlie and his friend. Fox Brine, both in league to conceal from her 
his sulferings. She knows ho must be enduring hardships too dreadful to think of. 
She is anxious, very anxious, to visit him in his dungeon ; very emphatic always on 
that epithet is Bessie in pleading with IMiss INIatilda to accompany her on this mission. 
Soft-hearted Aunt Clem sympathizes thoroughly with her niece; but ]Miss IMatilda is 
inexorable, bids the girl have a little patience, and she will lind all will come right. 

“ But it’s so heartless not to go and comfort him,” cries Bessie. 

“ Most unladylike to go trapezing about a debtor’s prison,” retorts ISIiss INIatilda. 

“ A wife cannot stop to think of such conventionalities when her husbaiul is in 
trouble,” urges Bessie. “ And am 1 not, or should I not be, the same to him now ? ” 

“ It is hard upon the child, ]\Iatilda, not to let her pay her betrothed one tiny visit,” 
interposed Aunt Clem. 

“You’re quite as big a liaby as she is, Clementina,” replied IMiss IMatilda, austerely, 
“ and know nothing at all of what is fitting under such circumstances. I am doing 
my best both for him and for her.” 

Miss Matilda, indeed, had sundry long interviews with her lawyer at this time. 
She had desired him to put himself in communication with Captain Dctficld’s man of 
business, for the chivalrous old lady contemplated nothing less than that she and 
Aunt Clem should discharge Dctlicld’s liabilities, Bessie giving ner an assurance that 
such monev should be paid back when she came of age. 


Mr. Roxby's Conversion. 


235 


She had said nothing of this to her sister, but she felt quite sure of her acquies- 
cence. As the stronger mind, she had thoroughly controlled- Miss Clementina all 
her life. 

Miss Matilda was far too good a woman of business not to know how worthless a 
minor’s guarantee would be in the eyes of the law ; but she was far too good a judge 
of character to doiibt for one moment that it would be paid when Bessie came into 
possession of her own. It was due principally to Miss Matilda’s business habits and 
conservative tendencies that Bessie’s fortune had not before this slipped through the 
fingers of the plausible Boxby. 

Often had that specious gentleman urged upon his co-trustee the advisability of 
transferring Bessie’s money into far more profitable investments, — pointed out the 
absurdity of being content with four per cent, when concerns returning six were 
plentiful as blackberries. But Miss Matilda invariably quoted the Duke of Welling- 
ton’s dictum, that high interest meant bad security, and vowed no risk should be run 
with the trust while she had aught to say to it. 

“ Poor James invested it carefully for his little girl, when his health obliged him to 
give up business, and he knew what he was about,” Miss Stanbuiy would obseiwe, 
dryly. “ Let it be.” 

The Stanburys were of fair family. There had been three of them to start with, 
— the ‘two maiden ladies we know, and a brother, Bessie’s father, long since dead. 
They had inherited ten thousand pounds apiece. The sisters lived quietly and com- 
fortably on the interest of their money. The brother embarked in business, married, 
had one child ; lost his wife, and then, having turned his ten thousand pounds into 
thirty, fell into a rapid consumption, which carried him off in something less than 
two years. He left Bessie, then about ten years old, to the joint guardianship of his 
eldest sister and Boxby. 

That he had dealt in cheese, among other things, was undoubtedly true ; but it had 
been on a large scale, and as a mere part of a large business, and scarce warranted 
Boxby’s flippant assertion that he had made his fortune “ in cheese.” 

There arc coal-dealers and coal-dealers, from the ^Marquis of Silkstone, who sells 
by the hundred thousand tons at the pit mouth, to Bob Ackers, who vends them by 
the pound, or shovelful, in the neighborhood of Newport Market. 

That Miss Matilda was engaged in some deep, mysterious scheme of her own was, 
of course, palpable both to her niece and sister ; that it had reference to helping the 
lovers out of their present embarrassment, they had her own word for, — the embar- 
rassment, by the way, Charlie Detficld’s solely, in reality ; but then man’s embar- 
rassment always extends to the woman attached to him. Ilis male friends may 
grieve, be sorry for him, but it is the women who carry sore hearts on such occasions. 

Poor Bessie was in no unmaidenl}'’ hurry for her marriage, but it seemed so hard 
to the frank, true-hearted girl, that she could not make use of a part of all this money 
to free the man she loved so dearly, from his entanglements. Still, there was the 
fact, she could do nothing; was not even allowed to go and see him in his trouble. 


236 


Two Kisses, 


It never oceurred to any of the ladies at Roseneath House that Charlie Hetfield 
had been anything' but imprudent and unfortunate. They connected his aiiest 
vaguely ^vith his quarrel with Roxby, upon which occasion they considered he had 
behaved “ nobly.” That his difficulties were the result of extravagance and self- 
indulgence they would have put aside, with much disdain, had it been suggested to 
them. 

Bessie and Aunt Clem arc sitting rather moodily over their brcald’ast, when Miss 
Matilda enters and exclaims : — 

“ Good-morning, Clementina. Good-morning, Bessie. What will you give for my 
news this morning ? ” and she waved a letter she held in her hand triumphantly 
before them. 

That Miss Stanbury W'as the herald of good tidings, her jubilant manner left no 
doubt about, and “ What is it ? ” burst simultaneously from the lips of her hearers. 

“ Mr. Roxby has taken his time to reply to my letter, there’s no denying, but it 
seems to have had the desired effect at last. There, Bessie, she continued, tossing 
the missive she had flourished so ostentatiously, across to her niece, “ that’s his con- 
sent to your marriage. Now, you know, you have only me to deal with. 

The astonishment of Aunt Clem and Bessie was unbounded ; they read the letter 
t^vice over together before they could believe it. The major was right when he had 
told the-financicr that he was a master of the plausible business, — nothing could 
have been more suasive, nothing more oily, so to speak, than Roxby s epistle. lie 
had embodied the major’s suggestions in honeyed terms, winding up with an elabo- 
rate apology that too much zeal for his ward’s interests should have betrayed him 
into intemperate language. 

He could not give better proof of his penitence, he conceived, than by promoting 
as speedily as might be the marriage which, under mistaken notions, he had so ran- 
corously, — yes, he must confess, rancorously opposed. Captain Dctiield s diflicul- 
tics, he had heard from good authority, were all in process of arrangement, and would 
be speedil}’ settled. 

As for Miss Matilda, she attributed all this change ip Roxby’s views to that sharp 
letter with which she had favored him, and which had so long remained unanswered. 
The good lady plumed herself not a little on having brought her recalcitrant co-trus- 
tee to his bearings, and conceived her dignified but stinging rebuke quite accounted 
for the humble peroration of his courteous epistle. That she should dissert a little on 
her own talents, for dealing with people who required l)oth reprimand and convinc- 
ing of the errors of their opinions, was but natural, and Aunt Clem was lost in real 
admiration of her sister’s cleverness. 

But Bessie could not help thinking of Mr. Roxby’s rascally proposition to Charlie 
Detfield; then she mused on his coarse, violent behavior to herself and Miss Stan- 
bury, on the occasion of his last visit, and the girl felt intuitively that some other 
influence had been brought to l)ear upon her unprincipled guardian to make him cat 
his words in this fashion. She could not help feeling some mistrust of this sudden 


Mr. Roxby's Conversion. 


237 


assent to her marriage, couched in such honeyed terms. To use homely words, it 
sounded too good to be time. 

But it was not only in Barnsbury road that Mr. Roxby’s conversion had made a 
stir. In that dingy, window-barred house in Cursitor street, over which the usurious 
Coleman held sway, there was much maiwcl. Charlie Dctfield, though naturally 
sanguine in temperament, had not placed much faith in the major’s letter. There is 
something demoralizing, I mean to the animal spirits, in imprisonment in the first 
instance, be that imprisonment made light as may be. 

When, like Sterne’s starling, man first awakes to the fact that he can’t get out,” 
he droops, mopes, and becomes despondent. Time alleviates this, and it is possible, no 
doubt, to arrive at the supine selfishness that Mr. Dorritt attained after some years’ 
experience of the Marshalsea. But in the beginning the bolts bite, the bars gnaw, 
and to the generality of men comes great depression. The prison listlessness steals 
over them. Capacity for work evapomtes, and the mental languor increases daily. It 
is good for our criminals that they are compelled to labor. Imprisonment for any 
length of time without 

“ Labor, the symbol of man’s punishment,” 

is to slay him morally and intellectually. There are exceptions, of course. Strong 
minds arc exceptional. 

Dctfield, fast succumbing to this apathy, is aroused once more by a second letter 
from the major, which he reads again and again, and still can hardly believe 'in : — 

“John street, Adelphi, 

“ Friday. 

‘‘ Dear Detfield, — Roxby and I have had our little game ; I beat him, as I told 
you I should, and he had to make terms. That your affairs can interest me wiU, no 
doubt, puzzle you ; but it so happens they do. Your one thousand to fifteen chance 
has come off, and you will find that Roxby has given unqualified consent to your 
man-iage. This, I need scarcely point out, places you in a very different position, and 
your la>vyer, or man of business, will find Simmonds now easy to deal with. Willing 
to give time, apply for remission of sentence, in fact facilitate your views in every 
Avay. I speak with authority; to say nothing of its being so obviously his best 
chance of getting his money, that he would be mad to act otherwise. 

“Accept my congratulations on your bridal, and remember you are somewhat 
indebted to me should I ever require a favor at your hands. 

“•Yours sincerely, 

^“Claxby Jenkens.” 

Although his battle with Roxby had been*a labor of love, and fought strictly in the 
interest of his employer, Simmonds ; yet the major could not resist putting in his 


238 


Tzuo Kisses. 

A • 

claim for recompense of some sort to the man who would so much benefit by his 
victory. 

He had no particular idea just then of what it was that he would have, but he would 
have deemed he was failing in his duty to liimself liad he not souglit to establish a pull 
of some kind over Dctfield. IMajor Jenkens was conscientious past all conception in 
doing his duty to himself. 

Circumstances make men intimate, whom it is hard to conceive amalgamating. It 
is wonderful what that necessity for “ talk,” common to the run of mankind, will do 
in this way. Who, that has travelled, has not seen scores of instances of this ? The 
railway traveller that unbosoms himself, and blurts out his whole family history 
between London and York, is an every-day type. You must be terribly morose, or 
clothed in surpassing hauteur, if you have never become the recipient of such con- 
fidences. One has been asked to lunch, to dine, even to stay, the first time you should 
be in the neighborhood. You may take such protestations cum grano salisy or you 
may take them en verity. I declare, when taken as the latter, I don’t think you would 
be deceived in most instances. 

‘Charlie Dctfield in the, to put it delicately, close seclusion of Mr. Coleman’s 
mansion, has fraternized strongly with Mr. Turbottle. Wide as the poles, the status 
of a dandy of the Household Brigade and a “ Cheap Jack.” True, equally wide the 
position of a peer of the realm and a d-devant pot-boy, of a baronet and an cx-stablc 
lad. Still, in the now extinct plunging era, such instances were. The turf leads to 
queer fraternization ; so did the railway mania. The Stock Exchange boasts, doubt- 
less, of similar incongruities. The only true republic is that of money-getting, in 
which the peasant is kotooed to and respected by the peer, should the latter hold the 
former’s information superior to his own. 

The old Railway King could have told some strange stories had he liked. I have 
known a bookmaker who has been requested to mark a marchioness’ I'acing (aird 
before the day’s sport began. There is not, therefore, so much cause for astonishment 
as might be at first supposed for the fraternization of Dctfield and Mr. Turbottle. 
The turf has been spoken of as a leveller of classes. A sponging-housc acts upon its 
inmates pretty much as a steam-roller on the newly metalled road, — apt to weld its 
inhabitants together. 

Mr. Turbottle, with his quaint humor and racy obseiwations on men and manners, 
had done much to lighten the weary hours of Detfield’s imprisonnicnt. That eccentric 
worthy had conceived a strong liking for his fellow-captive, Avhom he graphically 
described as “ not half a bail sort, considering he was born a swell. It docs come a 
little rough on them, you sqe, when they find ’cmsclvcs in Queer street. They aint 
used to it; at all events he aint as yet.” 

Mr. Turbottle happciKMl to be in high force the morning on which Dctfield received 
the major’s letter . 

“ What a blessing it is, captain, having plenty of time to read the papers, isn’t it } 
And what a blessing it is for old Coleman, having inmates who will see ’em,” he 


Mr. Roxby' s Convemon. 


239 


remarked, turning over the “ Telegraph.” “ Charge one sixpence a day for this here 
pennyworth, he docs, so help me. A man who can’t make capital out of his mis- 
fortunes aint fit to be in ’em. I tell you what I mean to do,” and here Mr. Turbottle 
indulged in a perfect volley of winks. “ As soon as I’m out I shall set up in this line ; 
it’s the most screaming trade ever I saw drove. If you can’t make a forfune at this 
game, why, you never will ; as an old pal, captain, you give me a turn if ever you’re 
Cursitor street way again. What, you won’t ? ” continued Mr. Turbottle, in answer 
to Detfield’s smile, and relapsing into the patter of his own trade. “ Well, I’ll tell 
you what I’ll do with you. I’ll do you half price, and throw you a Sunday dinner in. 
Aint that good enough ? Well, you settle up with Coleman before you say no.” 

“ This letter I’ve just received tells me that I shall be released in a few days. I 
own I don’t quite understand how, but I presume my lawyer, when he comes, will be 
able to explain.” 

“ What, going out ? Dash it all ! be a man, captain. Blessed if J didn’t think you’d 
made up your mind, like myself, not to part with a mag, but to sen/e your time out.” 

Mr. Turbottle labored under a delusion not eas}’’ to dissipate ; namely, that com- 
pleting his term of imprisonment would effectually wipe out the costs for which he 
stood committed. Keeping that money out of the pocket of the man whom he con- 
sidered had dealt unfairly with him was the sole reason of his obstinate resolve not 
to pay. Like the immortal Pickwick, he was in prison on principle. 

“ I slian’t stay here an hour longer than I can help,” replied Chaidie, dryly. “ I 
have good reasons for wishing to be at liberty.” 

“ Oh, there aint much difiiculty about finding reasons for that,” retorted Mr. Tur- 
bottlc. “ You might want to stretch your legs, or require change of scene. I never 
was in a place that furnished so many reasons for wishing to be away from it. I 
don’t w’ant to be inquisitive, nor to squash the hope that springs perennial, — I mean 
is always cropping up in the human bosom, as Shakespeare has it, but hope’s a rum ’un 
at telling ‘ a flattering tale much longer than my arm,’ you know.” 

“ I think I can put faith in my correspondent,” replied Charlie ; “ Claxby Jenkens 
don’t make many mistakes, and he happens to know thoroughly how I am situated.” 

“ Claxby Jenkens ! ” exclaimed Mr. Turbottle, bouncing off the sofa. 

“ Yes ; do j’-ou know him ? ” inquired Detfield, somewhat curiously. 

“ Oh, I know him, and he knows me,” replied the little man, somewhat abstractedly. 
“ But surely your friend spoke of him as a scoundrel the other day. What, pray, do 
you think of him ? ” , 

“ Well, he’s a man the world throws hard names at; but he has always dealt fairly 
by me, and, if I may trust his letter, has done me a real good turn now.” 

“ I haven’t seen him for a good bit, but it strikes me I must. You don’t think him 
an out-and-outer, then, eh ? ” and Mr. Turbottle peered inquisitively into his com- 
panion’s face. 

“ I have told you fairly what I know of him ; but there’s no doubt many people, 
like Fox Brine, judge him much more hardly than I do.” • 


240 


Two Kisses, 


“I must see him — I must see him,” murmured Mr. Turbottle. “Surely, he*d 
never play Cissy false. If he has, he might be pretty certain I wouldn’t stand her 
being put upon.” 

“ Going out, eh ? ” he continued, once more addressing himself to Dctfield. 
“ A\ hat’s it feel like ? A skin full of gin-punch aint a circumstance to it, I s’pose. 
Blessed if one understands liberty till one’s been under the lock. 

“ ‘ I’m for freedom of opinion 
Throughout this here dominion ; 

’Bout paying one’s debts, especially let’s 
Have freedom of opinion,’ ” 

sang Mr, Turbottle con spiritOy and then betook himself seriously to smoking. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

THE EXPLANATION. 

TnEKE are crises in history when events follow each other with startling rapidity, 
when we may almost, as in the days of the terrible French and German struggle, be 
said to listen for the moaning of the wires ; to strain our cars for the wailing of the 
CEolian harp of the nineteenth century, — the electric telegraph. Did the harp of 
old ever send forth sadder music than the mournful story of Sedan or Gravelotte, as 
wafted to us by the flashing strings of that of our day ? 

So in the lives of us all comes the time when we live years in hours. In the most 
prosaic existence there has happened what has seemed to it a convulsion. 

Cissy is living such a life now. To her every twenty-four hours is loaded with 
hope, with terror. She is sanguine of clearing her fair fiimc ; she trembles for tliat 
flickering life she loves so well ; for the fruition of that love she has awoke to, it may 
be too late. 

Much gratified has she been this morning (it is the day after her visit to Lizzie) 
by a call from John Paynter. Lizzie Payntcr, Avith all her faults, could be a very 
true friend. She had always refused to entertain a doubt of Cissy’s innocence; 
after their mutual explanation, she Avas, of course, more firmly convinced of it than 
ever. 

Her first impulse had been to ask Cissy immediately to come and stay Avith them 
till she Avas able to re-enter her husband’s house, Avith all that miseralfle scandal 
refuted. But Mrs. Payntcr remembered that she also had a husband, and that, easy- 
going and far from straight-laced as John Paynter Avas, he could upon occasion put 
his foot doAvn firmly. 

There had been a case or tAVO in Avhich people of reputation, rather more tainted 
than careless, good-natured Lizzie had been aAvarc of, had obtained a footing in her 


The Explmiation, 241 

house, and she recollected the peremptoiy manner in which they had been struck otf 
her visiting list. 

John Paynter interfered but little with his wife, yet he was too much about the 
world of London not to know, very shortly, all about those who might cross his 
threshhold; not the man to tolerate eharacters past all bleaching in his drawing- 
room. 

Lizzie, of course, knew that her husband took a different view from herself con- 
cerning Cissy’s conduct; but she knew, also, that it was no strongly prejudiced opin- 
ion regarding it. If he thought the worst, it was sorrowfully, and with regret that 
the facts, so far as he knew them, enabled him to come to no other conclusion. 

Lizzie invaded the sanctuaiy of the smoking-room that night, with bold, deliberate 
intention ; an intrusion which, wise in her generation, she never committed, save on 
great occasions. Did wives eomprehend what sparing use of such invasion may be 
made, they would treasure up the “ insidious charm ” carefully. It bears not always 
rubbing, like Aladdin’s lamp ; use it too often, and its efficacy wanes, waxes weaker 
and weaker, and at last dies out. Like those other “ charms,” opiates*, alcohol and 
nicotine, ’tis the abuse, not the use, that brings us to woe and utter discomfiture. 

Lizzie, at all events, thoroughly comprehended the advantage of keeping such bat- 
tle-ground for grand assaults, and not wasting that opportune position in conjugal 
skirmishes. Her husband knew well that when Lizzie ascended to the smoking- 
room she had something serious to unbosom herself of. 

She told him Cissy’s stoiy in her own quaint, though not quite sincere, fashion. It 
was hardly likely that she would reveal that scene at Montague Gore’s chambers, in 
all its integrity, for instance. Still she did make him understand that interfering 
between them, in defiance of his advice, she had so far further complicated matters as 
to make Cissy jealous of herself. That, eombined with Montague’s jealous innuen- 
does, had driven Cissy wild, and, in a moment of passionate excitement, she had 
levanted to Brompton-super-Mare. 

“ As for Major Jenkens, she says that within a day or two he shall himself declare 
what the mysterious relation between them is, and that it will leave no ground for the 
shadow of suspicion wdien you do but know it; and John, dear, as I have been in 
some measure the cause of her trouble, I do hope you will let me ask her here. It’s 
so shocking to think of her refused admission to her husband’s house ; a husband, 
mind, as I’ve told you all along — and I’m right here — that she is passionately attached 
to. If you wouldn’t mind, it would plqgse me so very much. Had you only seen 
her to-day, I am sure you would have done it yourself. Do it now, for my sake,” and 
Lizzie laid her hands on her husband’s shoulder, and looked wistfully down into his 
face, 

John Paynter threw his cigar into the fire, and exclaimed ; — 

“ You know, Liz, it came very much against the grain with me to think wrong of 
Cissy Gore. I’m uncommonly glad to think I’m mistaken, and that she, at all events, 
can flatly deny the scandal. I’ll call upon her myself, to-morrow, and ask her here. 


242 Two Kisses, 

It will show people that we uo longer eredit it, any way. Still, she must right her- 
self, remember.” 

“ And she will, and that speedily,” cried Lizzie, jubilantly. “ I don’t know quite 
what to call you, John, without being slang; but you’re a dear, good fellow, if that 
will do, — and that.” 

John Payntcr bore his salutation calmly, — husbands, I suppose, do, even when 
their wives arc not wont to be clfusive, — but he was prompt to his word, aud called 
on Mrs. Gore at the Langham, next morning. 

But Cissy was firm in her refusal of his invitation. That she was extremely pleased 
with it, she made uo disguise. 

“ It is very kind of you,” she said. “ It is a great comfort to me to think that you 
believe me guiltless ; that you credit me when I say I can dissipate this infamous 
Sf^andal before the week is out. Yet I’ll not so far take advantage of your compas- 
sion as to become your guest while this stain rests upon my name. Nay, further; 
one moment, please,” she cried, seeing that he was about to speak, “ I’ll be no one’s 
guest till my right to the shelter of my husband’s roof is once more established. 
You won’t deem me ungrateful, I know. Think for twb minutes, and you will say, 
— if she is innocent, she is right.” 

“ You are,” returned John Payntcr, warmly. Not that I am withdrawing my 
offer for one instant, but your woman’s wit serves you better than our blundering, 
though good intentions. Pemember, I’ll stand by you all I can, and so will Lizzie.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Payntcr, I know it,” replied Cissy, softly; “but you can only 
aid me in this matter so far. It is for me to justify myself; I can — I shall. But I 
cannot wait till my husband is fit to hear my exculpation, — my post should be at his 
side wom;. lam anxious — anxious indeed, I am frantic — to resume my rights. If 
INIontague should die without my hand to smooth his pillow, to solace his last 
moments, I shall never hold my head up more ; when I think how far my foolish- 
ness may have occasioned his illness, I don’t think I could even then. What I have 
to ask of you is this. Will you and J^izzie consent to hear my justification, and take 
care that Mr. Brine is present ? You three thoroughly satisfied, and no one shall say 
me nay about claiming my undoubted right to watch over my husband.” 

“ Of course, certainly ; as I said before, command me in any way,” replied John 
Payntcr. 

“ To-morrow, then, expect me with my evidence. I myself will write to Mr. Brine 
to meet me at your house at twelve.” 

“ All shall be as you wish, Mrs. Gore ; and no one can more sincerely wish you 
well through all your trouliles than I do. Good-by.” 

“Good-by, Mr. Paynter,” replied Cissy. And then that gentleman resumed his 
•way to tlie city, prepared to stake his existence on the innocence of the woman whom 
twenty-four hours ago he had held guilty past all dispute. 

So often as people are condemned, socially, without evidence, it is well, perhaps, 
that they should be occasionally also exculpated on similar foundation. A shrewd, 


The Explanation. 


243 


sagacious man is John Paynter, but, logically, he has less reason to acquit Cissy than 
he has to consider the charge against her proven. 

An innocent woman we know her ; but John Paynter has changed his views on 
nothing more than his wife’s cajoleries, and Mrs. Gore’s bold denial of the scandal 
concerning her. Such proofs would have done little to convince him on a matter of 
business, yet cleverer men than he 'would have believed as he did in this instance. 

A note, the first thing next morning, from Brine, told Cissy that sleep, so long 
prayed for, had at length sealed her husband’s eyelids. The crisis of the fever, the 
deathlike slumber, when the poor, troubled brain at last ceases to wrestle with 'the 
phantoms that possess it, has come ; that phase of all cerebral excitement, when the 
watchers can mutely and neiwously but 'wait the a'W'aking of the sufiercr. If sense 
accompanies not the cessation of slumber, then indeed the patient’s hold of life waxes 
slender. If it should, then infinite is the care necessary to withdraw the stricken 
one from the Valley of the Shadow of Death, to nurse back into a flame those faint 
embers of life that such terrible struggle with the Destroyer has left. Cissy knew all 
this well. She had consulted doctors and books on brain fever during the last forty- 
eight hours. It was good news that at last he slept. The awaking was in the hands 
of Him who ruleth all things. 

Those who remembered Cissy in her Paris days would have been struck speechless 
with astonishment if they could have seen the energetic, calm woman she had 
become in her trouble. Forced to think now entirely for herself, she is foreseeing, 
self-reliant, and patient. One idea possesses her. She must 'svin Montague back, must 
clear herself of all stain in his eyes. If the precious boon of his life is not to be 
granted to her, then in pity’s sake let it be conceded that he should understand she 
was guiltless, if foolish; let him kiss and forgive her before he should be torn from 
her. Time is precious ; — this terrible fever, who shall say how it may terminate ? 
She wants all her faculties. She must be sitting by her husband’s bedside 'when he 
awakes. 

Loth as he was to leave his friend at such a crisis, yet Fox Brine saw at once that 
his duty to his friend was to restore his wife to him ])efore all things, if possible. 
Prejudiced strongly against Cissy he had been, no doubt, but his opinion concerning 
her had been much modified by their last interview. 

“ She spoke like an innocent woman,” muttered Fox to himself. “ If she can in 
the main substantiate her stoiy, I would acquit her, and trust to time to clear up some 
little discrepancies, if such there be.”. 

Leaving stringent orders that word should be instantly despatched to him of 
Montague’s awaking, Mr. Brine betook himself to the Paynters. He found Lizzie in 
a state of great agitation. Honest anxiety for her friend, leavened with a perfect tremor 
of curiosity, had reduced Mrs. Paynter to that state in which to sit still becomes an 
impossibility. Her husband, though much calmer, as behoved his masculine dignity, 
still awaited Cissy’s promised explanation 'svith considerable interest. 

A few minutes past twelve and a servant announced Mrs. Gore. 


244 


Two Kisses. 


Cissy, very quietly dressed, entered the room, followed by a gentleman who was at 
once recognized by all. She bowed generally to the trio, and with a motion of her 
hand checked Lizzie, who was coming forward to greet her. 

“Allow me to introduce to you, Major Claxby Jenkens,” she paused for a moment, 
and then added in clear, steady tones, — “ my father.” Taking no notice of the varied 
signs of astonishment visible in the faces of her hearers, she continued, — “ I shall leave 
my exculpation in my lather’s hands. Will you be kind enough to listen to his story ? ” 

Claxby Jenkens advanced a step or two, and quietly took off his accustomed 
spectacles. 

“ I shall not,” he said, “ detain you long. Let me say in the first place that my 
daughter has been loyal to a promise I exacted from her under other circumstances, 
but which I still gave her positive injunctions to respect, namely, the concealment of 
my very existence from her world. I have been an intriguer, a schemer, all my life ; 
•but that the world could ever put me down as my daughter’s lover I must own never 
entered my head. The old story,” he said sadly, — “ we never can see anything except 
from our own point of view.” 

“ But are you really Cissy’s father ? ” exclaimed Lizzie, who could restrain herself 
no longer. 

“ Hush ! ” said her husband, as he laid his hand on her arm. 

“ I must go back a good bit,” replied the major, taking no manner of notice of the 
interruption, “ but I promise to be brief. Some five-and-twenty years ago I was a 
subaltern of artillery, quartered at Nottingham. I fell in love with a very pretty 
girl there, the daughter of a tobacconist it ended in my running away with and 
marrying her. 

“ My commanding officer was very wroth with my escapade ; so were the towns- 
people generally, — he, because I had made her an honest woman; the latter, because 
they persistently maintained I had not. Neither she nor I had a very pleasant time 
of it, and after a little I determined to leave the sendee, and resigned my commission 
accordingly. We went abroad; how we lived matters little, we scrambled along 
somehow ; but at the end of three years I lost her, and I can say honestly the saddest 
day of my life was when I laid her in her grave at Pcre-la-Chaise. 

“ She left me one child, — the woman who now stands before you. What was I to 
do with a little thing two years old ? What I did, was to take her back to Nottingham, 
and place her with my wife’s sister, who Avas by that time married, and whose husband 
was assisting his father-in-law in the management of the shop. If she Avas rather 
hard, she Avas a just Avoman, and 1 kneAV I could rely upon her to do her duty by my 
child. 

“As for my OAvn relations, they Avere not many. I had alienated them by various 
escapades, and they Avere only too glad to make my marriage an occasion for breaking 
AV'ith me altogether.” 

“ Stop ! ” exelaimed Brine. “ You and Turbottle married sisters, by Heaven ! and 
therefore you know — ” 


The Explanation, 


245 


A good deal, Mr. Brine, you wish to learn, if you will only allow me to tell it,” 
replied the major, blandly. “ It always is hard to induce people to listen patiently, 
even to that.” 

“ Please be quiet,” intci-posed John Paynter. 

Cissy, her hand grasping the back of a chair, listened with unmoved countenance to 
her OAvn biography. What did it all matter to her ? It was but a means to an end, 
reconciliation with her husband, — reconciliation with the man she loved, permission, 
nay, the right to sit by his sick-bed. How tedious her father was, she thought ; but 
her faith in his talents and knowledge of the world never swerved. It was necessary, 
she supposed, this weary recapitulation, if he thought so. For herself she deemed, 
when she had said this is my father, when he had said this is my daughter, everything 
was made clear. The major knew better. 

“ For ten years,” he continued, “ Cissy lived there ; then I took her abroad and 
placed her in a convent at St. Germains. She left that only to be married to Mark 
Ilcmsworth. From that date she was before the Paris world, as Mrs. Paynter can 
testify. I can see you believe me, but I am a man of business. Unwittingly I have 
mised a terrible scandal against the one being in this world I have to love. Her 
innocence cannot be made too clear. Here arc*^ my proofs. There is an attested copy 
of my marriage with Cecilia Blackburn, at St. Sepulchre’s Church, Holborn, — easy 
to verify that within two hours. This is an attested copy of Cissy’s birth in Paris, 
the truth of which can be ascertained in a couple of days. Is that sufficient ? ” 
Certainly,” replied John Paynter. 

** Mrs. Gore, I humbly ask your pardon ! ” said Fox Brine. 

“ Cissy, my darling ! ” cried Lizzie, advancing towards her. 

One moment, please ! ” exclaimed the major, in sharp, peremptory tones. “ You 
deem that enough ; I don’t. I can afford to leave no link wanting in this evidence. 
If Mr. Paynter will favor me by ringing the bell and telling some one to ask the 
gentleman below to step up, I shall introduce to you an irreproachable witness of my 
story. No one more capable of pronouncing on his veracity than Mr. Brine.” 

John Paynter gave the necessary order, and, like his wife and Brine, awaited with 
intense curiosity the appearance of the new-comer. 

Another minute, and a sleek, bright-eyed little man entered the room, bowed 
respectfully to the company, and, then crossing pver, diew Cissy’s arm within 
his own. 

“ Mr. Turbottle ! ” ejaculated Brine, with the utmost amazement. 

“Exactly,” interposed the major; “also the uncle with whom Cissy was brought 
up ; also the co-trustee with myself to that settlement for which you have been so 
long searching. He told you and Mr. Gore the whole story about a year 'ago, if 3mu 
remember, when neither of you were aware of m3’ existence, nor dreamed that my 
daughter would ever be Mr. Gore’s wife. The settlement-deed, hung at Firth and 
Cbillingham’s bank in Nottingham, would alone be indisputable evidence.” 

“ How do you do, Mr. Turbottle ? ” exclaimed Brine, as he cix)ssed to shake hands 


246 


Two Kisses. 


with that worthy. “ I certainly can vouch to liaving heard this story at the George 
Inn, Xottingham. Don’t think I have a doubt; but how did you turn up so oppor- 
tunely ? ” 

“ I knew where he was as well as you did,” replied the mnjor. I went to him 
last night, and we had a long talk together. It was not likely that he would fail Cissy 
in her trouble any more than myself.” 

“ No,” replied the little man, huskily. “ It went ag’in’ the grain to give in to that 
Chowner, of eourse; but when the ehild I had dandled so often on my knee wanted 
me, I was bound to eome, naturally, at any sacrifice, lieg’lar bit of the old business, 
sir,” he continued, turning to Brine, — “ giving up the money, and paying, leastways 
Coleman, very handsome to take it.” 

But here Mrs. Paynter dashed swiftly across the room, and caught Cissy in her 
arms just, as with a slight gurgle in her throat, she was on the point of swooning. 

“ Help me to put her on the sofa, John, and then take them all downstairs, and 
send Justine here. She is only a little bit hysterical, and will be right again in a few 
minutes. You will not go, Mr. Brine ? ” 

“Not without Mrs. Gore, if possible.” 

Lizzie nodded, and turned towards\er patient. 

Mrs. Paynter was right. A few choking sobs, a short burst of tears, and then, 
after swallowing a stilY dose of sal-volatile and water. Cissy pronounced herself able 
and anxious to leave. 

“ You are satisfied, are you not ? ” she whispered to her friend. “ They all are, — 
is it not so ? And I may go to Montague at once ? ” 

“Yes, dear. I never doubted you myself,” replied her friend; “ and as for the 
others, Mr. Brine is waiting below to conduct you home. God bless you. Cissy, and 
grant that your husband may be restored to you ! Come ! ” 

“Mrs. Gore,” said Fox Brine, as he handed her into the brougham, “I have just 
received a note to say that Montague has awoke, and is conscious, llemembcr, he is 
weak as a child. You will want all your self-control. Can you trust yourself? ” 

“ You shall sec,” replied Cissy, softly, her face irradiated with a smile of inex- 
pressible sweetness. “ I have gone through my hour of agony ; I feel that he will 
come back to me. Don’t fear that my nerves will tail me again.” 


OOXXOO 

CILiPTER XLV. 

A GAY WEDDING. 

CnARLTE Detfield is again at liberty. lie has shaken the dust from his shoes, 
and crossed the threshold of the rapacious Coleman with a sense of inexpressible 
relief. lie hardly knows how it has all come about, but most assuredly beneficent 
fairies have come to his assistance in a manner that his merits little warrant; in a 


A Gay Wedding. 


247 


fashion that rarely happens to the impecunious of these clays, reminding one of the 
stock-uncle of the old comedies. 

“ Always possessed 
Of fortune so truly romantic, 

Of money so ready that, right or wrong. 

It always is ready to go for a song. 

Throwing it, going it, pitching it strong. 

They ought to have purses as green and long 
As the cucumber called the gigantic.” 

There were one or two mysterious conferences betwixt Miss Stanbury’s lawyer and 
his own man of business ; and then the latter announced to Detfield that all his diffi- 
culties were settled. 

“ I have succeeded in borrowing as much money as will suffice for the present, sir,” 
said Charlie’s solicitor, “ at live per cent. ; but do you know that the person advancing 
this sum and your principal creditor, Simmonds, both make the same stipulation } ” 

“ What’s that ? ” incpiired Detfield. 

“ Ila ! ha ! it’s rather an odd condition ; but I have already pledged myself for your 
compliance with it.’ 

^‘Wcll?” 

“ Ila ! ha ! they insist upon your being married within six weeks.” 

Quite right, as far as I am concerned; but you see it doesn’t altogether depend 
upon me.” 

“ Hum ! I don’t know. They say. Captain Detfield, you arc engaged, and that jmu 
can easily be married in that time, if you choose.” 

“ I don’t sec what that beast Simmonds can know about it,” replied Charlie. “ But 
you may tell him, for his comfort, that I shall ])ring it about as soon as I can.” 

“ Within six weeks, if possible, then, I may say ? ” inquired the lawyer. 

Detfield nodded. 

“If I can only persuade Bessie,” he muttered, “it certainly shall be wdthin that 
time.” 

AVhen he put that question to his fiancee a day or two later, the girl hesitated for a 
moment, then blushing slightly, said ; — 

“ I have never made a secret of my love, Charlie. I told you when all went wrong 
I would wait, and now I’m yours whenever it pleases you to take me.” 

Bessie, you see, has really no personal dignity, or maidenly reserve, whatever ; she 
loves with all that iimocent frankness which poets suppose to characterize the milk- 
maid. Better still, she loves as a fair, honest English maiden may, w’ith her very 
heart upon her lips, and all her soul shining out of the truthful brown eyes. 

But then Bessie suggested, she didn’t know what Aunt Matilda might say to it, 
“ And she’s been so kind, Charlie, of late, that I really cannot go against her, you 
know.” 


248 


Two Kisses. 


However, Miss Stanbury accepted the proposition most graciously ; said she was no 
advocate for long engagements ; that, as for Captain Dctficld, the sooner he was bound 
over in his good behavior, the better ; that, as for Bessie, well, it was best so too. 
‘‘ You couldn’t depend on a soldier, of course. Next time he was in difficulties it 
was as well she should be licensed to visit him, and not threaten to outrage all the 
proprieties, as she had done only a w'eek or so back.” 

Bessie bore her aunt’s jokes meekly. She was too happy to quarrel with anybody 
just at present. 

Now that he was to be married immediately to an heiress, of course Detficld would 
have had small difficulty in settling with his creditors ; still it was Miss Stanbury who 
smoothed matters, and became security for him, thereby enabling his solicitor to 
arrange things upon much more favorable terras than he could have otherwise 
obtained. Charlie did not know this till many months aftenvards. 

There Avas one thing which did weigh heavily upon his mind, and that was leaving 
the old corps. Of course, he had not been gazetted out as yet. Was it practicable to 
withdraw his papers ? 

The first thing to be ascertained was whether ‘‘Chummy Vernon” would let him 
off his bargain. 

The chummy, so-called in accordance with some one of those unaccountable 
caprices which give a man a nickname in the sciwice, was the officer who liad agreed 
to purchase his step, and to him Charlie confided his desire to cancel the arrangement. 

“ All right,” said the “ chummy one,” “ I’d rather have you still with us than get 
your step. Deuced glad to hear you’ve pulled through, old fellow ! It’s rough, too, 
Charlie, you know, because you’re getting married, beside, they tell me, and’ll never 
really go to hounds again ; or else a man who rode and drove so hard as you did, 
gave a chance every hunting season.” 

“Don’t you be afraid,” laughed Detfield ; “I shan’t be further from the hounds 
because I chance to be a trifle better mounted. The first time we meet at the cover 
side, chummy, you don’t cut me down for a tenner.” 

“ Done,” replied the other, grinning ; “ mind I don’t land both the step and the 
tenner.” 

A popular man in his regiment, and strongly backed by his chief, Charlie had not 
much difficulty in recovering his papers. 

Gayly go on the preparations for the wedding meanwhile. If there had been 
excitement at Boseneath House prior to the ball, there was simply delirium now. 
Aunt Clem was in a state of perpetual flutter, while the way Miss Matilda harried the 
lawyers, dressmakers, outfitters, etc., all that multitude of people who never keep 
time, and without whose assistance matrimony is supposed to be unattainable, was a 
sight to behold. As Charlie irreverently whispered to his fiancee : — 

“ If she was going to be married herself, she couldn’t be more desperately in 
earnest.” 

“ It is very well she is, sir,” replied Bessie, with a saucy toss of her head, “ that is 


A Gay Wedding. 249 

if you are. I’m sure my things would never be ready for months, if it was not for 
the way she worries people.” 

“ And I suppose you couldn’t be married without them ? ” inquired Charlie, with 
an affectation of gravity. 

“No,” replied Bessie, solemnly, “quite impossible; no girl was ev^cr married till 
her things were ready.” 

Miss Stanbury had her own reasons for hurrying on this wedding. To tell the 
truth, she dreaded that Mr. Boxby should revoke his decision. Although she 
believed that it was her own fervid appeal and severe rebuke that had made him yield 
his consent, and write in the conciliatory way he had done, still Miss Matilda mis- 
trusted Mr. Boxby. • 

She thought that in his desire to bo once more reconciled \vith herself and Kosc- 
neath House, he had hastily assented to this marriage as the easiest way of becoming 
so ; but that he would probably invent some pretext for objecting to it very shortly, 
had indeed already some half-developed scheme to that effect. Miss Stanbury con- 
ceived the best way to prevent any insidious attack of this nature was by hunting 
the marriage as much as possible. 

After the manner of Napoleon, Miss Matilda intended to give her adversary no 
time to reform, little dreaming that he was morally annihilated, and utterly at the 
dictation of men who had this marriage as much at heart as herself. 

It had been decided emphatically by Aunt Matilda that it should be a vciy gay 
wedding, if she could make it so. 

“We’ve no other niece to many, Clem, so we’ll do the thing royally, this once. 
Then it’s a real love-match, without being a pauper affair,” continued Miss Stanbur^\ 
“ The savings of Bessie’s minority will about pay his debts, and they’ll have a very 
nice income to set up house on. We will marry Bessie with all the honors.” 

There was a large muster at St. Mary’s Church, Islington, one bright autumn 
morning, and amongst the throng are several of those who have figured more or less 
prominently in this histoiy. Notable amongst them is Mr. Boxby, with a bouquet in 
his button-hole, a vast expanse of light blue silk waistcoat, and an air of universal 
benevolence. lie has presented Bessie with a magnificent bracelet, and claimed the 
right of giving her away. Nobody could look the character of father to the bride 
more completely. Mr. Boxby shakes hands with the wedding-guests generally, 
patronizingly ; if a dearly loved daughter had been about to bo married to the son-in- 
law of his choice he could not have been more effusive. He has taken the whole 
ceremony under his immediate protection, and seems to be bestowing his benediction 
on mankind generally in honor of the occasion. 

Mr. and Mrs. Paynter are of course there. Charlie has pledged himself to the lady 
that there is to be nothing clandestine about his marriage ; that there are to be six 
bridesmaids, and a tremendous breakfast to follow. Mr. Paynter has once more 
found himself constrained to open his purse-strings, and vow that he will never more 
attend such ceremony ; while Lizzie is divided between critical reflections on her own 


250 


T'<.vo Kisses. 


toilet, and curiosity to see her old admirer wedded to Clementina Stanbiiry, 
spinster. 

Lounging in one of the pews near the altar is a little man, in a green coat wiih 
gilt buttons, holding in his hand a white hat. 

Mr. Turbottle considers this last addition to his attire quite in the aspect of a wed- 
ding garment, lie associates festivity and light-heartedness intimately with the head 
covering, and has exchanged the gold-banded sombrero of his professional life for 
the white hat, with much deliberation. Strange to say, Bessie has received no hand- 
somer present than a necklace of pearls from Mr. Turbottle. 

“ No duffers, you know, captain,” said the little man, when he slipped them into 
Charlie’s hand. “They aint part of the stock; never saw Birmingham, that lot, 
bless you ! You give ’em your young woman, with my respectful (fomplirnents. 
They all likes a bit of jewelrj^ 1 knows ’em. And if you wouldn’t think it a 
liberty, captain, I should like just to see you turned off'.” 

The eccentric little man was really worth a tidy bit of money, and could well afford 
to indulge such a whim, when he took the fancy. He had concciv^ed a great liking 
for Dettield, during the two or three days they had spent together under the roof of 
the rapacious Coleman, and took this opportunity of showing it. 

But now the bridal procession sweeps up the aisle, and groups itself round the altar, 
Mrs. Paynter leans forward to have a good look at the bride, but Bessie’s face happens 
to be a little averted, and is also somewhat masked by the veil, so she does not 
succeed. 

“ ’Pon my word ! she looks marvellously young,” muttered Mrs. Paynter to herself. 
“ Whoever made her up deserves great credit. It will all do very well ; there’s much 
virtue in a decent milliner.” 

The ceremony commenced; and, as the officiating clergyman recited the words, “ If 
either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in 
matrimony,” Lizzie gave a tremendous start. She had just tliscovered Aunt Clem 
and her sister standing below the steps of the altar, a little in the background. 

“John,” she whispered, clutching her husband’s arms, “ stop him. He ought to be 
stopped ; he’s marrying the wrong woman.” 

“ She evidently came here to be married, if her get-up goes for anything,” chuckled 
John Paynter, “ and Dettield looks as if he thought it all right.” 

“ But it isn’t ; that’s not the heiress. Who on earth can it be ? ” 

At this minute, in answer to the minister’s summons, Mr. Boxby advanced to give 
Bessie away. It occasioned a slight change in her position ; the veil fell rather more 
back, and her face was turned towards Mrs. Paynter. 

“A sweetly pretty girl,” murmured the sotto mce ; “but who can she be? 
That’s not Miss Clementina Stanbury.” 

“ It must be,” replied her husband. “ But listen.” 

Mrs. Paynter did, attentively, until she heard Bessie, in low, tremulous tones, 
repeat : — 


A Gay Wedding. 


25.1 


** I, Elizabeth Jane, take thee, Charles,” etc. 

“ If this is a Miss Stanbuiy, John, I never heard of her,” she whispered, solemnly. 
“ Poor Charlie ! he’s made a mess of it, as usual. That girl’s far too pretty to be an 
heiress. Depend upon it, he’s marrying just what will pay his debts, instead of the 
nugget he ought to have done. So like him,” she continued, with a slight touch of 
asperity ; “ always caught by a good-looking face to the utter destruction of his real 
interests.” 

The ceremony is over, and the guests crowd back to Roseneath House for breakfast. 
Mr. Roxby proposes the health of the happy couple in a glowing speech, dwelling 
much upon the amiable and endearing qualities of the bride. He gives the company 
to understand that she has been to him as a daughter, and that the only consolation he 
has on parting with her is, that he gives her to the man of her choice, — his noble, 
manly-hearted, gallant young friend. Captain Detfield; with which peroration, and 
covering his face with a white -handkerchief, Mr. Roxby sits down. 

There is a slightly humorous smile on Charlie’s lips as he presents his wife to Mrs. 
Paynter some few minutes before their departure. 

A very old friend, Bessie, who, I trust, will allow us to call upon her on our 
return.” 

Lizzie bows, smiles, expresses a hope of making Mrs. Detfield’s acquaintance really, 
when she gets back again, and cannot refrain from shaldng her head in mock admo- 
nition of her whilom admirer. 

■ “ Much too nice for you, sir,” she murmurs, as she bids him good-by. “ I only 
hope, Charlie, she has some money. Miss Clementina looks so much more like it.” 

Wedding breakfasts are not usually festive entertainments. Sustained by copious 
libations of champagne, we always endeavor strenuously to suppose they are ; but who 
is there over thirty that does not shiver at the idea of having to assist at one ? Still 
this was marked by some hilarity. 

Mr. Roxby naturally conceived that the whole affair was under his special patron- 
age. He became simply speechless with ^vrath when Mr. Fox Brine, who had figured 
in the character of best man, took the whole conduct of the feast completely out of his 
hands; insisted, contrary to all etiquette, upon proposing the health of the brides- 
maids ; and then called upon ]Mi\ Turbottle (who he had already whispered it about 
was a rich, but eccentric cousin) to return thanks. 

How Mr. Turbottle, warmed with wine, entered heartily into the spirit of the pro- 
ceedings, and, falling back upon his old profession, commenced disposing of the 
bridesmaids as so many lots, till compelled to sit down by the ubiquitous Brine, must 
liave been seen to be believed. 

At last the bride descends, attired for the road. A tear or two glisten in Miss 
Matilda’s eyes, and Aunt Clem gives vent to palpable sobs ; hearty hand-squeezes, a 
somewhat faltering cheer; an old slioe, maladroitly thrown, catches Mr. Roxby, 
posed majestically at the carriage-door, in the waistcoat; ci’ack goes the whip, and 
Captain and Mrs. Detfield have departed for the Continent. 


252 


Two Kisses. 


CHAPTER XL VI. 

RECONCILIATION. 

As may be supposed, Fox Brine’s intelligence was correct. Montague Gore had 
awoke, and was in possession of his senses ; that is, so far as a man reduced to utter 
prostration can be said to be possessed of them, — possession, in his case, meaning little 
more than an indistinct craving for nourishment and stimulant, coupled with a decided 
and overpowering desire for more sleep. 

When Mrs. Gore assumed her place at her husband’s bedside, he was once more far 
away in the realm of Oneiros, and some hours elapsed before he again opened his 
eyes, and looked dreamily about him. 

Too weak almost to whisper, too weak almost to move, yet there was a soft gleam 
of recognition in his dark eyes, and his wife’s heart filled with exultation as the pale 
lips faintly syllabled ; — 

“ Cissy.” 

He had for the present utterly forgotten all the suspicious complications that had 
preceded his illness ; he recognized nothing but that the woman he so passionately 
loved was watching over him ; that it was her hand that smoothed his pillow, her 
hand that lifted the cup to his lips. 

Days roll by, and inch by inch Montague Gore wins his way back from the dread 
border-land, where he has lingered so long. Ever, as he recognizes the untiring devo- 
tion of his wife, does he strive to put on one side those dim memories of some grave 
wrong done to him by Cissy before he fell ill. 

It is not all clear to him yet, but recollection is slowly returning, and troubles him 
like a horrible nightmare. Indeed he tries to persuade himself that the whole thing 
is a mere phantasm of the brain, — a lingering remnant of the delirium that had 
possessed him. 

Cissy, with her keen, watchful, loving glance, is not blind to what is passing within 
her husband’s mind. She herself is thirsting for an explanation, and only awaits his 
being stronger to make full confession. But she judges rightly ; it is best not to liun-y 
such. 

“ It must be of that sort,” thinks Cissy, “ which shall leave no room for another as 
long as Montague and I may live.” 

The time comes, one bright day at the beginning of October. Montague has been 
out for a drive, and the crisp, shaiT) air has sent the sluggish blood once more like 
quicksilver through its channels ; one of those days upon which we feel our vitality ; 
when the animal runs riot in our veins; when we revel in sheer consciousness that we 
are alive ; one of those days when a convalescent gulps down huge draughts of 
strength and health, and literally leaps, instead of progresses, towards recovery. 


Reconciliation . 


253 


Montague Gore is sitting by the window, looking lazily out at the passers-by, when 
he is aroused from his abstraction by the light touch of his wife’s hand. 

** Montie,” she says gently, “ I want to talk to you. I think now you are strong 
enough to hear what I have in my heart to say to you ; what I have been yearning 
to say to you for weeks past.” 

lie said nothing, but the dark eyes gazed curiously into her face, and there was a 
troubled expression about the brow. 

“ I know,” she said, now, of what the world held me guilty, when I left you, just 
before your illness. I had no idea what was thought of my llight then, but my eyes 
have been fully opened since. Montague,” she continued, taking his hand between 
her own, “ that I am innocent of aught but foolishness, my being here this instant is 
proof. Were I a guilty woman, I should never have dared enter your presence 
again. I am free to speak now ; to tell you that my supposed lover is my father. 
Remember, it might well never occur to me that you should attribute such a character 
to him. As soon as the scandal reached our ears, my father came forward and told 
our story to your most intimate friends, and they at once did me justice. Why he 
wished his existence kept a secret he shall explain to you himself shortly.” 

But what made you run away ? ” inquired Gore. 

Because I was desperately in love with my husband,” replied C^ssy, blushing. 

“ A most singular way of showing it,’’ said Montague, smiling. 

But you know it is so ? ” exclaimed Cissy, eagerly. 

** I know that you have taken veiy great care of me lately, and are the best and 
dearest nurse in England,” said Gore ; “ but still I don’t understand why, loving me, 
you should run away.” 

“ Because I was a goose — because you shouldn’t have glass doors in your cham- 
bers — because I was jealous — because you have no right to — ” and here Cissy 
crimsoned to the roots of her hair. 

“ No right to what ? ” inquired Gore, fairly bewildered. 

“ No right to kiss any woman but me.” 

What Mrs. Paynter would have thought, had she known it, one can’t imagine ; but, 
sad to say, Montague, at the moment, had really forgotten all about that unlucky 
salute, which had led to so much mischief. Had there been any remnant of jealousy 
still lurking in Cissy’s breast it must have been dissipated by the utter want of 
comprehension visible in her .husband’s countenance. Lizzie had undoubtedly told 
licr the truth ; it was palpable that kiss carried no recollections with it. 

“ I don’t understand. Cissy,” he murmured, at last. 

“ Ah ! you will, if you think of the day Lizzie Paynter came down to see' you in the 
Temple, and reflect that you have badly glazed doors to your rooms. I shall run 
away now. Montie ; when I come back, you will know all about it.” 

When Cissy returned, her husband had. remembered all; but it made their recon- 
ciliation no less complete, and Montague Gore knew that his wife’s heart was his at 
last. 


Two Kisses. 


254 

A little later, and the major called and told his story, explained his somewhat far- 
strained reasons for keeping his existence so long a secret, and handed over his 
trust. Whatever his intentions might at one time have been concerning it, 
he had been scrupulously honest, and the moneys derived from the big farm in 
Nottinghamshire, which constituted Cissy’s settlement, w'ere lying untouched in the 
names of himself and Mr. Turbottle at the Nottingham bankers’, to whom they had 
been paid of late. 

During Mark Ilemsworth’s life they had, of course, been lodged in his name. It 
was only after his death, and in complete ignorance of what had become of the 
•widow, that the bankers had opened an account with the trustees. Of these, of 
course, the major had been the most active agent; and it •w'as not till Fox Brine’s 
vituperation of him at Coleman’s that Mr. Turbottle conceived it was possible that 
he could meditate wronging his daughter. 

The little man had been much disturbed at that idea, and had meditated putting 
himself into communication with Brine, when the major’s sudden visit, prior to the 
explanation at the Paynters’, had once more convinced him that Claxby Jenkens 
was loyal to Cissy. 

Mr. Roxby had, at one time, conceived serious thoughts of levanting to America; 
but he reflected that there was an extradition treaty with that country, and that 
Simmonds was likelj" to be a relentless foe. lie accordingly stood to his bargain, and 
is yet a shining light in the financial world. Simmonds and his old friend, Claxby 
Jenkens, alone being aware how near he once was to obtaining “ permanent employ- 
ment” in one of her majesty’s convict establishments. 

In conclusion, I can only add that Mr. Fox Brine’s novel is still anxiously awaited 
by his friends and acquaintance. Perhaps, with the American humorist, he holds 
that if to publish seldom be good, to publish seldomer must be better. 


THE END. 


SJr TMJE 

BY EMILY BOWLES. 

^NecU Paper Cover ^ 50 cents. Handsome Cloth., $1.00. 

ILiOIlllVO, I*iil>Uslier, . . . J30ST01V. 

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IM THK 

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BEAUTIFUL EDITH, The Child-Woman. 

TWO KISSES. By IIAWEEY SRART. 

FOUR IRREPRESSIBLES. vV 


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